Enviado por Do utilizador5832

Bateson Gregory mente e natureza - ingles

Necessary U ni ty
Gregory Bateson
Copyright © 1979 by Gregory BateJon
All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.
No pat·t of this publicati01l may be reproduced or
tratlSlIlltted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical. including photocopy, recording or any
in/ormation storage and retrieval system now knoum or to
invented. without permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer u-ho wishes to quote brief pm'sages
in connection with a review written for inclusion in
a magazine. newspaper or broadcast.
For information (Ontin!:
E. P. Dutton, 2 Park Avenue,
New York, N. Y. 10016
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Bateson, Gregory.
Mind and nature.
Includes index.
I. Knowledge, Theory of
I. Tit/e.
ISBN: 0-525-15590-2
Published simultan",,,sly in Canada by
Cla/h, Irwin
& Company Limited,
Toronto and Vancou.'er
De;igned by The Etheredges
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
Emily Elizabeth
I ntroduction
Every Schoolboy Knows
Multiple Versions of the World
Criteria of Mental Process
Multiple Versions of Relationship
VI .
The Great Stochastic Processes
From Classification to Process
Appendix: Time Is Out of Joint
I ndex
18 7
So What?
The work and thought leading to this book have spread
over many years, and my debts go back to include all
that were acknowledged in the preface to my previous
book, Steps to an Ecology 0/ Mind. But I have tried to
write to be understandable to those who have not read
shall acknowledge here only debts contracted since
Steps and
Steps was published .
Even so , recent favors have been many. In something like chro­
nological order, I have to thank first the fellowship of the University of
California at Santa Cruz and especially my friends in Kresge College:
Mary Diaz , Robert Edgar, Carter Wilson , Carol Proudfoot, and the sec­
retariat .
And then I have to thank the Lindisfarne Association, whose
scholar in residence I was for six months of the writing of this book. Bill
Irwin Thompson , Michael Katz, Nina Hagen, and Chris and Diane
Bamford were hosts who combined generosity with brains . W ithout
them , there would have been no book.
Similarly , in the last stages of writing the book and following
severe medical adventures , Esalen Institute took me in as guest, permit­
ting me to combine writing with convalescence. I have to thank Janet
Lederman , Julian Silverman , Michael Murphy, Richard Pr:ice, and many
others . Both at Esalen and at Lindisfarne , my debt is really to the total
community .
Early in 197 8 , I underwent major surgery and was warned that
time might be short . In this emergency, Stewart Brand and the Paine
Foundation came to my aid . Stewart made it possible for my daughter
Mary Catherine to come from Tehran and spend a month with me in
California working on the manuscript . Her employer in Iran, the Reza
Shah Kabir University, generously gave her a professional leave. The
first five chapters of the book owe much to her clarifying criticism and
sheer hard work . I also thank Stewart for publishing parts of the manu­
script in Co-evolution Quarterly and for permitting republication here .
Two students of mine have been active and constructive critics,
Rodney Donaldson and David Lipset; many others , by l istening , have
helped me to hear when I was talking nonsense .
My editor, B ill Whitehead, and agent, John Brockman , have pa­
tiently nagged me into getting the book written .
My secretary, Judith Van Slooten, did much of the drudgery and
helped compile the index, and many others at Lindisfarne and Esalen
and along the way have helped.
Finally , my wife, Lois, stood by, criticized and appreciated , and
bore patiently with my varying excitements and depressions as the ideas
came and went.
was born in 1904, the son of William Bateson, a leading
British biologist and a pioneering geneticist. Resisting family pressures to fol­
low in his father's footsteps, he completed his degree in anthropology instead of
the natural sciences, and left England to do field work in New Guinea. It was
on his second trip there, in 1956, that he met his fellow anthropologist Mar­
garet Mead, whom he later married; their only child, Mary Catherine Bateson,
is also an anthropologist. Bateson and Mead were divorced in 1950, but they
continued to collaborate professionally and maintained their friendship until
Mead's death in 1978.
In the years to follow, Bateson became a visiting professor of anthropol­
ogy at Harvard
was appointed research associate at the Langley Porrer
Neu ropsychiatric Institute in San Francisco; worked as Ethnologist at the Palo
Alto Veterans Administration Hospital (where he developed the double-bind
theory of schizophrenia and formulated a new theory of learning). He worked
with dolphins at the Oceanographic Institute in Hawaii and taught ar the Uni­
versity of Hawaii. In 1972 he joined rhe faculty of the University of California
at Santa Cruz.
The author of Naven and Steps to an Ecology of Mind. and co-author of
Bali nese Character, Gregory Bateson has markedly influenced an entire genera­
tion of social scientists, including the British psychiatrist R. D. Laing-and he
is considered one of the "fathers" of the family therapy movement. Appointed
by Governor Jerry Brown as a member of the Board of Regents of the Univer­
sity of California in 1976, he now lives in Ben Lomond, California, with his
wife, Lois, and daughter, Nora.
* A large part of this c hapter was delivered as a
lecture at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine i n
New York on November 1 7 , 1977.
Plotinus the Platonist prrwes by means of the blossoms and leaves that from the SUprefllt God, whose
beauty iJ invisible and ineffable, Prrwidence reaches down to the things of earth here below. He
points out that these frail and mortal ob;uts could not be endowed uith a beaut)' so immamlate
and so exquisitely wrought, did they not issue from the Divinity which endlessly pi!l7Jades with its
invisif,/e and unchanging be"uty at! things.
The City of God
In June 1977, I thought I had the beginnings of two
books. One I called The EtJo/utionary Idea and the other
Every Schoolboy Knows. '*' The first was to be an attempt
to reexamine the theories of biological evolution in the
light of cybernetics and information theory. But as I
began to write that book, I found it difficult to write with a real audi­
ence in mind who, I could hope , would understand the formal and
therefore simple presuppositions of what I was saying. It became mon­
strously evident that schooling in this country and in England and , I
suppose, in the entire Occident was so careful to avoid all crucial issues
that I would have to write a second book to explain what seemed to me
• A favorite
phrase of Lord Macaulay·s. He is credited with. "Every schoolboy knows who impri­
soned MO ntezu
ma, and who strangled Atahualpa."
elementary ideas relevant to evolution and to almost any other biological
or social thinking-to daily life and to the eating of breakfast . Official
education was telling people almost nothing of the nature of all those
things on the seashores and in the redwood forests , in the deserts and the
plains. Even grown-up persons with children of their own cannot give a
reasonable account of concepts such as entropy, sacrament , syntax, num­
ber , quantity, pattern. linear relation, name, class , relevance, energy ,
redundancy, force, probability , parts , whole , information, tautology,
homology, mass (either Newtonian or Christian) , explanation, descrip­
tion, tule of dimensions , logical type, metaphor, topology, and so on.
What are butterflies? What are starfish ? What are beauty and ugliness?
It seemed to me that the writing out of some of these very ele­
mentary ideas could be entitled , with a little irony. "Every Schoolboy
Knows . "
But as I sat in Lindisfarne working on these two manuscripts,
sometimes adding a piece to one and sometimes a piece to the other, tpe
two gradually came together , and the product of that coming together
was what I think is called a Platonic view. '*' It seemed to me that in
"Schoolboy," I was laying down very elementary ideas about epjstemology
(see Glossary) , that is, about how we can know anything. I n the pronoun
we, I of course included the starfish and the redwood forest , the seg­
menting egg, and the Senate of the United States.
And in the anything which these creatures variously know, I in­
cluded "how to grow into five-way symmetry, " "how to survive a forest
fire," "how to grow and still stay the same shape , " "how to learn , " "how
to write a constitution , " "how to invent and drive a car , " "how to count
to seven," and so on. Marvelous creatures with almost miraculous
knowledges and skills.
Above all , I included "how to evolve, " because it seemed to me
that both evolution and learning must fit the same formal regularities or
so-called laws. I was , you see, starting to use the ideas of "Schoolboy" to
.. Plato's m ost famous discovery concerned the "realiry" of ideas. We commonly think that a dinner
plate is "real" but that its circularity is "only an idea." But Plato noted. first, that the plate is not
truly circular and, second, that the world can be perceived to contain a very large number of objects
which simulate, approximate, or strive after "circulariry." He therefore asserted that "circularity" i s
ideal (the adjective derived from idea) and that such i deal components o f t h e u ni verse are t h e real ex­
planatory basi s for its forms and structure. For him, as for Wi lliam Blake and m any others, that
"Corporeal Universe" which our newspapers consi der "real" was some sort of spin-off from the truly
real, namely the forms and i deas. In the beginning was the i dea.
refl ec t , not upon our own knowing, but upon that wider knowing which
i s rhe glue holding together the starfishes and sea anemones and redwood
for est s and human committees.
My twO manuscripts were becoming a single book because there
is a sing le knowing which characterizes evolution as well as aggregates
of hum ans, even though committees and nations may seem stupid to
two-legged geniuses like you and me .
1 was transcending that line which IS sometimes supposed to
enclose the human being . In other words, as I was writing, mind be­
came, for me, a reflection of large parts and many parts of the natural
world outside the thinker.
On the whole , it was not the crudest, the simplest , the most
animalistic and primitive aspects of the human species that were re­
flected in the natural phenomena. It was, rather , the more complex, the
aesthetic, the intricate, and the elegant aspects of people that reflected
nature. It was not my greed, my purposiveness , my so-called "animal , "
so-called "instincts, " and s o forth that I was recognizing o n the other
side of that mirror, over there in "nature. " Rather , I was seeing there
rhe roots of human symmetry, beauty and ugliness, aesthetics , the
human being's very aliveness and little bit of wisdom . His wisdom, his
bodily grace , and even his habit of making beautifu l objects are j ust as
"animal" as his cruelty. After all, the very word "animal" means "en­
dowed with mind o[ spirit (animus)."
Against this background, those theories of man that start from
the most animalistic and maladapted psychology turn out to be improb­
able first premises from which to approach the psalmist's question:
"Locd, What is man?"
I never could accept the first step of the Genesis story: "In the
b eginning the earth was without form and void . " That primary tabula
raJa would have set a formidable problem in thermodynamics for the
next billion years . Perhaps the earth never was any more a tabula rasa
tha n is, a human zygote--a fertilized egg.
It began to seem that the old-fashioned and still-established
i eas about epistemology, especially human epistemology , were a reflec­
tI On of an obsolete physics and contrasted in a curious way with the little
We seem to know about living things. It was as if members of the
spec ies, man, were supposed to be totally unique and totally material-
istic against the background of a living universe which was generalized
(rather than unique) and spiritual (rather than materialistic) .
There seems to be something like a Gresham's law of cultural
evolution according to which the oversimplified ideas will always dis­
place the sophisticated and the vulgar and hateful will always displace
the beautiful. And yet the beautiful persists.
It began to seem as if organized matter-and I know nothing
about unorganized matter , if there be any-in even such a simple set of
relations as exists in a steam engine with a governor was wise and
sophisticated compared with the picture of human spirit that orthodox
materialism and a large part of orthodox religion currently drew.
The germ of these ideas had been in my mind since I was a boy.
But let me start from two contexts in which these thoughts began to in­
sist on utterance: In the 1 950s, I had twO teaching tasks . I was teaching
psychiatric residents at a Veterans Administration mental hospital in
Palo Alto and young beatniks in the California School of Fine Arts in
San Francisco. I want to tell you how those two courses commenced ,
how I approached those two contrasting audiences. If you put these two
first lectures side by side, you will see what I am trying co say.
To the psychiatrists, I presented a challenge in the shape of a
small exam paper , telling them that by the end of the course they should
understand the questions in it . Question 1 asked for brief definitions of
(a) "sacrament" and (b) "entropy . "
The young psychiatrists i n the 1 9 5 0s were , i n general , unable to
answer either question. Today, a few more could begin to talk about en­
tropy (see Glossary). And I suppose there are still some Christians who
could say what a sacrament is?
I was offering my class the core notions of 2 , 500 years of
thought about religion and science. I felt that if they were going to be
doctors (medical doctors) of the human soul, they should at least have a
foot on each side of the ancient arguments. They should be familiar with
the central ideas of both religion and science.
For the art students, I was more direct . It was a small group of
about ten to fifteen students, and I knew that I would be walking into
an atmosphere of skepticism bordering on hostility. When I entered it
waS clear that I was expected to be an incarnation of the devil , who
would argue for the common sense of atomic warfare and pesticides . In
those days (and even today?) , science was believed to be "value-free" and
not guid ed by "emotions . "
I was prepared for that . I had two paper bags , and the first of
these I ope ned , producing a freshly cooked crab , which I placed on the
table. I then challenged the class somewhat as follows: "I want you to
produce arguments which will convince me that this object is the re­
m ains of a living thing . You may i magine , if you will , that you are
Marrians and that on Mars you are familiar with living things , being
indeed yourselves alive. But , of course , you have never seen crabs or lob­
sters. A number of objects like this, many of them fragmentary , have ar­
rived , perhaps by meteor. You are to inspect them and arrive at the
conclusion that they are the remains of living things. How would you
arrive at that conclusio n?"
Of course , the question set for the psychiatrists was the same
question as that which I set for the artists: Is there a biological species of
Both questions concerned the underlying notion of a dividing
line between the world of the living (where distinctions are drawn and dif­
/erena can be a cause) and the world of nonliving billiard balls and
galaxies (where forces and impacts are the "causes" of events) . These are
the two worlds that Jung (following the Gnostics) calls creatura (the liv­
ing) and pleroma (the nonliving). ;; I was asking: What is the difference
between the physical world of pleroma, where forces and impacts pro­
vide suffic ient basis of explanation, and the creatura, where nothing can
be understood until differences and distinctions are invoked?
In my life, I have put the descriptions of sticks and stones and
billia rd balls and galaxies in one box, the pleroma, and have left them
alone. In the other box , I put living things: crabs , people , problems of
beauty, and problems of difference. The contents of the second box are
the subject of this book .
I was griping recently about the shortcomings of occidental edu­
cat ion. It was in a letter to my fellow regents of the University of Cali­
fornia , and the following phrase crept into my letter:
'c . G . lung, Septem Sermones ad Mortllos (London: Stuart
& Watkins, 1967).
"Break the pattern which connects the items oJ learning and you necessarily de­
stroy all quality."
I offer you the phrase the pattern which connects as a synonym ,
another possible title for this book .
The pattern which connects. Why do schools teach almost nothing
of the pattern which connects? Is it that teachers know that they carry
the kiss of death which will turn to tastelessness whatever they touch
and therefore they are wisely unwilling to touch or teach anything of
real-life importance? Or is it that they carry the kiss of death because they
dare not teach anything of real-life importance? What's wrong with
What pattern connects the crab to the lobster and the orchid to
the primrose and all the four of them to me? And me to you? And all
the six of us to the amoeba in one direction and to the back-ward schizo­
phrenic in another?
I want to tell you why I have been a biologist all my life , what i t
i s that I have been trying t o study. What thoughts can I share regarding
the total biological world in which we live and have our being? How is
it put together?
What now must be said is difficult, appears to be quite empty,
and is of very great and deep importance to you and to me. At this his­
toric juncture , I believe it to be important to the survival of the whole
biosphere , which you know is threatened.
What is the pattern which connects all the living creatures?
Let me go back to my crab and my class of beatniks . I was very
lucky to be teachi ng people who were not scientists and the bias of
whose minds was even anti scientific. All untrained as they were , their
bias was aesthetic. I would define that word , for the moment , by saying
that they were not like Peter Bly, the character of whom Wordsworth
A primrose by the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him;
And it was nothing more.
Rather , they would meet the primrose with recognition and empathy. By
aesthetic, I mean responsive to the pattern which connects. So you see , I was
s by coincidence , I faced them with what was (though I
lucky. Perhap
an aesthetic question: How are you related to this creature?
knew it not)
ects you to it?
What pattern
By putting them on an imaginary planet, "Mars , " I stripped
, amoebas , cabbages , and so on and forced
them of all thought of lobsters
living self: You carry
the diag nosis of life back into identification with
look at the crab to
the bench
find that it, toO, carries the same marks . " My question was much more
sophist icated than I kne w.
So they looked at the crab. And first of all , they came up with
the observation that it is symmetrical; that is , the right side resembles the
"Very good . You mean it's composed, like a painting?" (No response . )
Then they observed that one claw was bigger than the other. So
it was not symmetrical .
I suggested that if a number of these objects had come by me­
teor, they would find that in alm ost all specimens it was the same side
(right or left) that carried the bigger claw. (No response. "What's
Bateson getting at?")
Going back to symmetry, somebody said that "yes, one claw is
bigger than the other, but both claws are made of the same parts . !!
Ah! What a beautiful and noble statement that is, how the
speaker politely flung into the trash can the idea that size could be of
primary or profound importance and went after the pattern which connects.
He discarded an asymmetry in size in favor of a deeper symmetry in for­
mal relations .
Yes, indeed , the two claws are characterized (ugly word) by em­
body ing similar relations between parts. Never quantities , always shapes,
forms, and relations. This was, indeed, something
that characterized the
crab as a member of creatura, a living thing
Later, i t appeared that not only are the two claws built on the
same "ground plan , " (i . e. , upon corresponding sets of relations between
c or respond ing parts) bur that these relations between corresponding
parts extend down
the series of the walking legs . We could recognize in
every leg pieces that corresponded to the pieces in the claw.
And in your own body , of course, the same sort of thing is true.
Humerus in the upper arm corresponds to femur in the thigh, and
radius-ulna corresponds to tibia-fibula; the carpals in the wrist corre­
spond to tarsals in the foot; fingers correspond to toes.
The anatomy of the crab is repetitive and rhythmical . It is , like
music, repetitive with modulation. Indeed, the direction from head
toward tail corresponds to a sequence in time: In embryology, the head
is older than the tail. A flow of information is possible, from front to
Professional biologists talk about phylogenetic homology (see
Glossary) for that class of facts of which one example is the formal resem­
blance between my limb bones and those of a horse. Another example is
the formal resemblance between the appendages of a crab and those of a
That is one class of facts. Another (somehow similar?) class of
facts is what they call serial homology. One example is the rhythmic repe­
tition with change from appendage to appendage down the length of the
beast (crab or man); another (perhaps not quite comparable because of
the difference in relation to time) would be the bilateral symmetry of the
man or crab . '*'
Let me start again. The parts of a crab are connected by various
patterns of bilateral symmetry, of serial homology, and so on . Let us call
these patterns within the individual growing crab first-order connections.
But now we look at crab and lobster and we again find connection by
pattern. Call it second-order connection, or phylogenetic homology.
Now we look at man or horse and find that, here again, we can
see symmetries and serial homologies. When we look at the twO
together, we find the same cross-species sharing of pattern with a dif­
ference (phylogenetic homology) . And, of course, we also find the same
discarding of magnitudes in favor of shapes, patterns, and relations. In
• I n the serial case i t i s easy t o imagine that each anterior segment may give information t o the next
segment which is developing immediately behind it. Such i nformation might determine orienta­
tion, size, and even shape of the new segment. After all, the anterior is also antecedent in time and
could be the quasi-logical antecedent or model for its successor. The relation between anterior and
posterior would then be asymmetrical and complementary. It is conceivable and even expectable
that the symmetrical relation between right and left is doubly asymmetrica l , i . e . , that each has
some complementary control over the development of the other. The pair would then constitute a
circuit of reciprocal control . It is surprising that we have almost no knowledge of the vast system of
communication which must surely exist to control growth and differentiation.
as this distribution of formal resemblances is spelled out , it
other words,
gross anatomy exhibits three levels or logical types of
tU rnS out that
sitions :
descript ive propo
1 . The parts of any member of Creatura are to be compared with
other parts of the same individual to give first-order connections.
2 . Crabs are to be compared with lobsters or men with horses to
fi nd sim ilar relations between parts (i . e . , to give second-order connections) .
3. The comparison between crabs and lobsters is to be compared
comparison between man and horse to provide third-order con­
nections .
We have constructed a ladder of how to think about-about
what? Oh, yes, the pattern which connects.
My central thesis can now be approached 10 words: The pattern
which connects is a metapattern. It is a pattern of patterns . I t is that
metapattern which defines the vast generalization that , indeed , it is pat­
terns whhh connect.
I warned some pages back that we would encounter emptiness,
and indeed it is so . Mind is empty; it is no-thing. It exists only in its
ideas , and these again are no-things . Only the ideas are immanent , em­
bodied in their examples. And the examples are, again, no-things . The
claw, as an example, is not the Ding an sich,. it is precisely not the "thing
in itself. " Rather , it is what mind makes of it , namely , an example of
something or other .
Let me go back to the classroom of young artists.
You will recall that I had two paper bags . In one of them was the
crab. In the other I had a beautiful large conch shell . By what token, I
asked them , could they know that the spiral shell had been part of a liv109 thing ?
When she was about seven, somebody gave my daughter Cathy a
cat 's-eye mounted as a ring . She was wearing it, and I asked her what it
was. She said it was a cat's-eye.
I said, "But what is it?"
"Well , I know it's not the eye of a cat . I guess it's some sort of
Stone. "
I said , "Take it off and look at the back of it."
She did that and exclaimed, "Oh , it's got a spiral on it! I t must
have belonged to something alive."
Actually, these greenish disks are the opercula (lids) of a species '
of tropical marine snail . Soldiers brought lots of them back from the Pa­
cific at the end of World War n.
Cathy was right in her major premise that all spirals in th is
world except whirlpools, galaxies, and spiral winds are , indeed , made by
l iving things . There is an extensive literature on this subject , which
some readers may be interested in looking up (the key words are Fibon­
acci series and golden section).
What comes out of all this is that a spiral is a figure that retains
its shape (i. e. , its proportions) as it grows in one dimension by addition at (
the open end . You see , there are no truly static spirals .
But the class had difficulty. They looked for all the beautiful for­
mal characteristics that they had joyfully found in the crab. They had
the idea that formal symmetry, repetition of parts, modulated repeti­
tion, and so on were what teacher wanted. But the spiral was not bila­
terally symmetrical; it was not segmented.
They had to discover (a) that all symmetry and segmentation
were somehow a result, a payoff from , the fact of growth; and (b) that
growth makes its formal demands; and (c) that one of these is satisfied
(in a mathematical , an ideal , sense) by spiral form .
So the conch shell carries the snail's prochronism-its record of
how , in its own past, it successively solved a formal problem in pattern
formation (see Glossary) . It, too, proclaims its affi liation under that pat­
tern of patterns which conneCts .
So far , all the examples that I have offered-the patterns which
have membership in the pattern which connects , the anatomy of crab
and lobster, the conch , and man and horse---have been superficially
static. The examples have been the frozen shapes, results of regularized •
change , indeed, but themselves finally fixed , like the figures in Keats'
"Ode on a Grecian Urn";
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou can'st not leave
Thy song. nor ever can those trees be bare,'
Bold lover, never never canst thou kiss,
Though u'inning near the goal-yet do not grieve,-
She ca nnot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
po-m'e/' wilt thou lrwe, and she be fair!
We have been trained to think of patterns, with the exception of
music, as fixed affairs. It is easier and lazier that way but, of
those of
onsense. In truth, the right way to beg i n to think about the
course, all n
h connects is to think of it as primarily (whatever that
pattern whic
of interacting parts and only secondarily pegged down by
means ) a dance
limits and by those limits which organisms
var ious sortS of physical
characteristically impose.
There is a story which I have used before and shall use again: A
man wa nted to know about mind, not in nature, but in his private large
computer. H e asked it (no doubt in his best Fortran), "Do you compute
that you will ever thi nk like a human being?" The mach i ne then set to
work to analyze its own computational habits. Fi nally, the machine
printed its answer on a piece of paper, as such machi nes do. The man
ran to get the answer and found, neatly typed, the words:
A story is a l ittle knot or complex of that species of connec­
tedness which we call
In the 1960s, students were fighti ng for
"relevance," and I would assume that any A is relevant to any
A and
if both
are parts or components of the same "story."
Again we face connectedness at more than one level:
First, connection between A and
by virtue of their being com­
ponents in the same story.
And then, connectedness between people in that all think i n
terms of stories. (For surely the computer was right. This is i ndeed how
people think.)
�t ory which
Now I want to show that whatever the word
means in the
I told you, the fact of thinking in terms of stories does not
Isolate hum an belllgs
as somethlllg separate from the starfish and the sea
ane mo nes, the
coconut palms and the primroses. Rather, if the world be
con nected,
if I am at all fundamentally right i n what
thmking I'n terms
Ours Or
those of redwood forests and sea anemones .
am sayi ng, then
' must be shared by all m i nd or
OJJ stones
m i nds, whether
Context and relevance must be characteristic not only of all so­
called behavior (those stories which are projected out into "action") , but
also of all those internal stories, the sequences of the building up of the
sea anemone . Its embryology must be somehow made of the stuff of '
stories. And behind that , again , the evolutionary process through mil­
lions of generations whereby the sea anemone , like you and like me,
came to be--that process, toO, must be of the stuff of stories. There
must be relevance in every step of phylogeny and among the steps .
Prospero says, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on ," and
surely he is nearly right. But I sometimes think that dreams are only
fragments of that stuff. It is as if the stuff of which we are made were to­
tally transparent and therefore imperceptible and as if the only appear'
ances of which we can be aware are cracks and planes of fracture in that :
transparent matrix. Dreams and percepts and stories are perhaps cracks
and i rregularities in the uniform and timeless matrix. Was this what ;
Plotinus meant by an "invisible and unchanging beauty which pervades
all things?"
What is a story that it may connect the As and Bs, its parts?
And is it true that the general fact that parts are connected in this way is ;
at the very root of what it is to be alive? I offer you the notion of context,
of pattern through time.
What happens when, for example, I go to a Freudian psychoana- :
lyst? I walk into and create something which we will call a context that is
at least symbolically (as a piece of the world of ideas) limited and
isolated by closing the door. The geography of the room and the door is
used as a representation of some strange, nongeographic message.
But I come with stories-not just a supply of stories to deliver t o
the analyst but stories built into my very being . The patterns and"
sequences of childhood experience are built into me. Father did so
so; my aunt did such and such; and what they did was outside my skin.
But whatever it was that I learned , my learning happened within my
periential sequence of what those important others-my aunt , my
Now I come to the analyst, this newly important other who
must be viewed as a father (or perhaps an anti father) because nothing has
meaning except it be seen as in some context. This viewing is called the
transference and is a general phenomenon in human relations.
cteristic of all interaction between persons because, after all ,
versaI char,l
of what happened between you and me yesterday carries over
the shape
we respond to each other today. And that shaping is, in
, e how
to shap
. cI'ple , a tram/erena from past
This phenomenon of transference exemplIfies the truth of the
computer's perception that we think in stories . The analyst must be
bed of the patient's childhood
stretch ed or shrunk onto the Ptocrustean
stories . But also , by referring to psychoanalysis, I have narrowed the
idea of "story. " I have suggested that it has something to do with con­
text, a cruci al concept , partly undefined and therefore to be examined.
And "context" is linked to another undefined notion called
"meaning ." Without context, words and actions have no meaning at all .
This is true not only of human communication in words but also of all
communication whatsoever, of all mental process , of all mind , including
that which tells the sea anemone how to grow and the amoeba what he
should do next.
I am drawing an analogy between context in the superficial and
partly conscious business of personal relations and context in the much
deeper, more archaic processes of embryology and homology. I am as­
serting that whatever the word context means , it is an appropriate word,
the necessary word, in the description of all these distantly related pro­
cesses .
Let us look at homology backwards . Conventionally , people
prove that evolution occurred by citing cases of homology. Let me do
the reverse. Let me assume that evolution occurred and go on to ask
about the nature of homology. Let us ask what some organ is according
to the light shed upon it by evolutionary theory.
What is an elephant's trunk? What is it phylogenetically? What
did genetics tell it to be?
As you know, the answer is that the elephant's trunk is his
"nose. " (Even Kipling knew!) And I put the word
"nose" in quotation
marks because the trunk is being defined
by an internal process of com­
municatio n in growth.
The trunk is a "nose" by a procesS' of com­
unica tion: it is the context of the trunk
that identifies it as a nose.
hat which sta
nds between two eyes and north of a mouth is a "nose "
an d that I.
S t hat. It I. S the context that fixes the meaning and it must
Surely be th e r . .
ecelv111g context that provides meaning for the genetic in.
structions. When I call that a "nose" and this a "hand" I am '-lUVUll�·_',
or misquoting-the developmental instructions in the growing orga�
nism , and quoting what the tissues which received the message thought:
the message intended.
There are people who would prefer to define noses by their"
"function"-that of smelling. But if you spell out those defin itions,
arrive at the same place using a temporal instead of a spatial COntext.
You attach meaning to the organ by seeing it as playing a given parr in
sequences of interaction between creature and environment . I call that a .
temporal context . The temporal classification cross-cuts the spatial clas�
sification of contexts. But in embryology, the first definition must
always be in terms of formal relations. The fetal trunk cannot , in gen� .
eral, smell anything . Embryology is formal.
Let me illustrate this species of connection, this connecting pat- .
tern, a little further by citing a discovery of Goethe's. He was a consid- .
erable botanist who had great ability in recognizing the nontrivial (i .e. , ·
in recognizing the patterns that connect) . He straightened out the v�
cabulary of the gross comparative anatomy of flowering plants. He dis­
covered that a "leaf" is not satisfactorily defined as "a flat green thing"
or a "stem" as "a cylindrical thing . " The way to go about the defini­
tion-and undoubtedly somewhere deep in the growth processes of the
plant , this is how the matter is handled-is to note that buds (i . e. , baby'
stems) form in the angles of leaves. From that , the botanist constructS
the definitions on the basis of the relations between stem , leaf , bud,
angle, and so on .
"A stem is that which bears leaves."
"A leaf is that which has a bud in its angle. "
"A stem is what was once a bud in that position ,"
All that is-or should be--familiar. But the next step is perhaps
new .
There is a parallel confusion in the teaching of language that has
never been straightened out. Professional linguists nowadays may
what's what , but children in school are still taught nonsense. They
told that a "noun" is the "name of a person, place, or thing ," that
"verb" is "an action word , " and so on. That is, they are taught at
e that the way to define something is by what it supposedly is
ce nder ag
, not by its relation to other thi ngs.
10 ItSelf
Mos t of us can remember bei ng told that a noun is "the name of
lace, or thing . " And we can remember the utter boredom of
a person, p
yzing sentences. Today all that should be changed. Chil­
arsiog o r anal
e told that a noun is a word having a certain relationship to
ren could b
A verb has a certain relation to a noun, its subject. And so
a predicate.
could be used as basis for definition, and any child
on. Relatio nship
there is something wrong with the sentence " 'Go' is
a verb."
I remember the boredom of analyzing sentences and the boredom
later, at Cambridge, of learn i ng comparative anatomy. Both subjects, as
taught, were torturously unreal. We
have been told something
about the pattern which connects: that all communication necessitates
context, that without context, there is no meani ng, a nd that contexts
confer meaning because there is classification of contexts. The teacher
could have argued that growth and differentiation must be controlled by
communication. The shapes of animals and plants are transforms of mes­
sages. Language is itself a form of commu nication . The structure of the
input must somehow be reflected as structure in the output . A natomy
must contain an analogue of grammar because all anatomy is a transform
of message material, which must be contextually shaped. And finally,
contextual shaping is only a nother term for grammar.
So we come back to the patterns of connection and the more ab­
stract, more general (and most empty) proposition that, i ndeed, there is
a pattern of patterns of connection.
This book is built on the opinion that we are parts of a living
world. I have placed as epigraph at the head of this chapter a passage
from Saint Augusti ne
in which the sai nt's epistemology is clearly stated.
Today such a statement evokes nostalgia. Most of us have lost that sense
o unity of
biosphere and humanity which would bind and reassure us all
With an affir
mation of beauty. Most of us do not today believe that
the ups an d downs 0f d eta I'l Wit
' h'10 our 1"Imlted expenence, t I1e
I arger
Whole is prim arily
We have lost the core of Christianity . We have lost Shiva, the
da ncer of
H indu ism whose dance at the trivial level is both creation and
destruction but in whole is beauty. We have lost Abraxas, the
and beautiful god of both day and night in Gnosticism. We have lost
temism, the sense of parallelism between man's organization and that
the a ni mals and plants. We have lost even the Dying God.
We are beginni ng to play with ideas of ecology, and al
we immediately trivialize these ideas into commerce or politics, there
at least an impulse still in the human breast to unify and thereby
tify the total natural world, of which we are.
Observe, however, that there have been, and still are, i n
world many different and even contrasti ng epistemologies which
been alike in stressi ng an ultimate unity and, although this is less
which have also stressed the notion that ultimate unity is
uniformity of these views gives hope that perhaps the great authority
quantitative science may be insufficient to deny an ultimate
I hold to the presupposition that our loss of the sense of
unity was, quite simply, an epistemological mistake . I believe that
mistake may be more serious than all the mi nor insanities that
ize those older epistemologies which agreed upon the
A part of the story of our loss of the sense of unity has
elegantly told in Lovejoy's
Great Chain of Being, *'
which traces the
from classical Greek philosophy to Kant and the beginnings of
idealism in the eighteenth century. This is the story of the idea that
world is/was timelessly created upon
the epigraph from
The City of God.
deductive logic.
The idea is clear
Supreme M i nd, or Logos, is at
head of the deductive chain. Below that are the angels, then people,
apes, and so on down to the plants and stones. All is i n deductive
and tied i nto that order by a premise which prefigures our second law
thermodynamics. The premise asserts that the "more perfect" can
be generated by the "less perfect."
In the history of biology, it was L'lmarckt who i nverted
great chai n of being. By i nsisting that mi nd is immanent in living
The Great Chain of Being: A Study of the History ofan Idea (Cambridge:
Philosophi. Zo% gique ( 1 809) translated as [Zoological philosophy : An
'" Arthur O . Lovejoy ,
University Press,
t ] . - B . Lamarck,
with regard to the natural history of animals , trans . Hugh Elliot} (New York & London:
Press ,
determ i ne their transformations, he escaped from the
and cou ld
. ve directi onal premIse that the perfect must always precede the
proposed a theory 0f .. transfiormlsm "( wh'ICh we
C - .
e c t He then
i m pen
(protozoa) and marched
l eti{j/;Iti!Jn) whIch started from IOfusona
wouId cal
to man
h ' The unIty
b'lOSph ere was Stl'11 a cam.
0f epiSThe La marck Ian
was reta i ned i n spite of a shift in emphasis from transcendent
nent mi nd .
Logos to imma
The fifty years that followed saw the exponential rise of the In­
dustrial Revolution, the triumph of Engineering over Mind, so that the
culturally apptopriate epistemology for the Origin 0/ Species ( 18 59) was an
attempt to exclude m i nd as an explanatory principle. Tilting at a wind­
There were protests much more profound than the shrieks of the
Fundamentalists. Samuel Butler, Darwi n's ablest critic, saw that the de­
nial of mind as an explanatory principle was i ntolerable and tried to take
evolutionary theory back to Lamarckism. But that would not do because
of the hypothesis(shared even by Darwin) of the "inheritance of acquired
characteristics." This hypothesis-that the responses of an organism to
its environment could affect the genetics of the offspring-was an ertor .
shall argue that this error was specifically an epistemological
error in logical typing and shall offer a definition of
very different
from the notions vaguely held by both Darwin and Lamarck. Notably, I
shall assume that thought resembles evolution in being a stochastic (see
Glossary) process.
In what is offered in this book, the hierarchic structure of
thought, which
Bertrand Russell called logical typing, will take the place
of th e hierarchic
structure of the Great Chain of Being and an attempt
will be made
to propose a sacred unity of the biosphere that will contain
fe wer episte
mological errors than the versions of that sacred unity which
t e variou
s religions of history have offered. What is importan is that,
r ght Or w
rong, the epistemology shall be explicit. Equally explicit criti . .
Clsrn will
the n be possible.
So the immediate task
of this book is
to construct a p icture of
h Ow the
w or ld IS
' Jomed
aspects. H ow do ideas,
I· n c
1 0 r rn
at IO
n, steps of logical or pragmatic consistency,
and the like fit
together? How is logic, the classical procedure for making chains
ideas , related to an outside world of things and creatures, parts
wholes? Do ideas really occur in chains , or is this lineal (see
structure imposed on them by scholars and philosophers? How is
world of logic , which eschews "circular argument , " related to a world
which circular trains of causation are the rule rather than the
What has to be investigated and described is a vast network
matrix of interlocking message material and abstract tautologies,
ises , and exemplifications .
But , as of 1979, there is no conventional method of descrt
such a tangle. We do not know even where to begin.
Fifty years ago, we would have assumed that the best
for such a task would have been either logical or quantitative ,
Bur we shall see as every schoolboy ought to know that logic is
cisely unable to deal with recursive circuits without generating l'''L''�'VI!
and that quantities are precisely not the sruff of complex communi
In other words, logic and quantity turn out to be .
devices for describing organisms and their interactions and internal
nization. The particular nature of this inappropriateness will be
ited in due course, but for the moment, the reader is asked to accept
true the assertion that , as of 1979, there is no conventional way
explaining or even describing the phenomena of biological organizati
and human interaction.
John Von Neumann pointed out thirty years ago, in his Theory
Games, that the behavioral sciences lack any reduced model which
do for biology and psychiatry what the Newtonian particle did for
There are , however , a number of somewhat disconnected
of wisdom that will aid the task of this book. I shall therefore adopt
method of Little Jack Horner , pulling out plums one after the other
exhibiting them side by side to create an array from which we can go
to list some fundamental criteria of mental process.
In Chapter 2 , "Every Schoolboy Knows ," I shall gather for
reader some examples of what I regard as simple necessary t
necessary first if the schoolboy is ever to learn to think and then
b ecause , as I believe, the biological world is geared to these
nece ssary
. .
opOsI tiOns.
In Chapter 3 I shall operate in the same way but shall bring to
's attention a number of cases in which two or more informa­
the reader
es come together to give information of a sort different from
Cl. a n sou rc
either source separately.
what was in
At present , there is no existing science whose special interest IS
of pieces of information. But I shall argue that the evolu­
the comb ining
ti onary process must depend upon such double increments of informa­
ti on. Every evolutionary step is an addition of information to an already
exi sting system. Because this is so, the combinations, harmonies , and
discords between successive pieces and layers of information will present
many prob lems of survival and determine many directions of change.
Chapter 4, "The Criteria of Mind , " will deal with the character­
istics that in fact always seem to be combined in our earthly biosphere to
make mind. The remainder of the book will focus more narrowly on
problems of biological evolution.
Throughout , the thesis will be that it is possible and worthwhile
co think about many problems of order and disorder in the biological
universe and that we have today a considerable supply of tools of
thought which we do not use , partly because-professors and schoolboys
alike-we are ignorant of many currently available insights and partly
because we are unwilling to accept the necessities that follow from a
clear view of the human dilemmas.
By edu cation most have been miJled;
So they beliet!e, because they so were bred,
The priest continues what the nune began,
And thus the child imposes on the man,
-JOHN DRYDEN, The Hind and the Panther
Science, like art , religion, commerce, warfare , and even
sleep , is based on presllppositions . It differs , however
from most other branches of human activity in that not
only are the pathways of scientific thought determined
by the presuppositions of the scientists but their goals
are the testing and revision of old presuppositions and the creation of
In this latter activity, it is clearly desirable (but not absolutely
necessary) for the scientist to know consciously and be able to state his
OWn presupposi tions. It is also convenitnt and necessary for scientific
j udgment to know the presuppositions of colleagues working in the
same field . Above all , it is necessary for the reader of scientific matter to
know the presuppositions of the writer .
I have taught various branches of behavioral biology and cultural
anthropology to American students, ranging from college freshmen to
psychiatric residents , in various schools and teaching hospitals, and I
have e ncountered a very strange gap in their thinking that spri ngs from
a lack of certai n
of thought. This lack is rather equal! y distributed
at all levels of education, among students of both sexes and among
humanists as well as scientists. Specifically , it is lack of knowledge of
the presuppositions not only of science but also of everyday life.
This gap is, strangely , less conspicuous in two groups of stu­
dents that might have been expected to contrast strongly with each
other: the Catholics a nd the Marxists. Both groups have thought about
or have been told a little about the last 2, 5 00 years of human thought ,
and both groups have some recognition of the importance of philo­
sophic, scientific, and epistemological presuppositions. Both groups are
difficult to teach because they attach such great importance to "right "
premises and presuppositions that heres y becomes for them a threat of
excommunication. Naturall y , a nybody who feels heresy to be a danger
will devote some care to being conscious of his or her own presupposi­
tions and will develop a sort of co nnoisseurship in these matters.
Those who lack all idea that it is possible to be wrong can learn
nothing except know-how.
The subject matter of this book is norably close to the core of
religion and to the core of scientific orthodoxy. The presuppositions­
and most students need some instruction in what a presupposition looks
like--are matters to be brought out into the open.
There is, however , another difficulty, almost peculiar to the
American scene. Americans are, no doubt , as rigid in their presupposi­
tions as any other people (and as rigid in these matters as the writer of
this book), but they have a strange response to any articulate statement
of presupposition. Such statement is commonly assumed to be hostile or
mocking or-and this is the most serious-is heard to be
It thus happens that in this land founded for the freedom of
religion , the teaching of religion is outlawed in the state educational sys­
tem. Members of weakly religious families get , of course, no religious
tra i n i ng from any source outside the family.
Consequently, to make any statement of premise or presupposi­
tion i n a formal and articulate way is to challenge the rather subtle resis-
tance, not of contradiction , because the hearers do not know the contra­
Jictory premises nor how to state them , but of the cultivated deafness
that children use to keep out the pronouncements of parents, teachers ,
and religious authorities.
Be all that as it may, I believe in the importance of scientific
presuppositions , in the notion that there are better and worse ways of
constructing scientific theories , and in insisting on the articulate state­
ment of presuppositions so that they may be improved .
Therefore , this chapter is devoted to a list of presuppositions ,
some familiar, some strange to readers whose thinking has been pro­
tected from the harsh notion that some propositions are simply wrong.
Some tools of thought are so blunt that they are almost useless; others
are so sharp that they are dangerous. But the wise man will have the use
of both kinds.
It is worthwhile to attempt a tentative recognition of certain
basic presuppositions which all minds must share or, conversely, to de­
fine mind by listing a number of such basic communicational character­
IStlCS .
Science sometimes improves hypotheses and sometimes disproves
them . But proof would be another matter and perhaps never occurs ex­
cept in the realms of totally abstract tautology. We can sometimes say
that if such and such abstract suppositions or postulates are given, then
such and such must follow absolutely. But the truth about what can be
perceived or arrived at by induction from perception is something else
Let us say that truth would mean a precise correspondence be­
tween our description and what we describe or between our total net­
work of abstractions and deductions and some total understanding of the
outside world . Truth in this sense is not obtainable. And even if we ig­
nore the barriers of coding , the circumstance that our description will be
in words or figures or pictures but that what we describe is going to be
in flesh and blood and action-even disregarding that hurdle of transla­
tion , we shall never be able to claim final knowledge of anything what­
A conventional way of arguing this matter is somewhat as
lows: Let us say that I offer you a series-perhaps of numbers ,
other indications-and that I provide the presupposition that the
is ordered. For the sake of simplicity, let it be a series of numbers:
2 , 4, 6, 8 , 10, 12
Then I ask you , "What is the next number in this series?" You
probably say, " 14. "
But if you do, I will say, "Oh, no. The next number is 2 7 . "
other words , the generalization to which you jumped from the
given in the first instance-that the series was the series of
numbers-was proved to be wrong or only approximate by
Let us pursue the matter further. Let me continue my �",.L'-'.U".lll
by creating a series as follows:
4, 6, 8, 10, 1 2 , 27 , 2, 4, 6, 8, 1 0 , 1 2 , 27 ,
4, 6, 8 ,
12, 27
Now i f I ask you to guess the next number, you will Dr4)b�lDt1
say, " 2." After all , you have been given three repetitions of the se(�ut!nq
from 2 to 27; and if you are a good scientist , you will be influenced
the presupposition called Occam's raZIJr, or the rule 0/parsimony: that is"
preference for the simplest assumptions that will fit the facts. On
basis of simplicity, you will make the next prediction. But those
what are they? They are not, after all , available to you beyond the end '
the (possibly incomplete) sequence that has been given .
You assume that you can predict, and indeed I suggested
presupposition to you . But the only basis you have is your (trained)
erence for the simpler answer and your trust that my challenge i
meant that the sequence was incomplete and ordered.
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), it is so that the next
is never available. All you have is the hope of simplicity, and the
fact may always drive you to the next level of complexity.
Or let us say that for any sequence of numbers I can offer ,
will always b e a few ways of describing that sequence which will
finite number of alternative ways not limut there wil l be. an in
. .
siIllp le , b
. eel b the crit erion
Suppose the numbers are represented by letters:
p, n
letters could stand for any numbers whatsoever, even
and so on . S uch
only to repeat the series three or four times in some
frac tions . I have
, even in the forms of pain or kines­
verbal or vis ual or other sensory form
I offer you. It
thesia , and you will begin to perceive pattern In what
will become in your mind-and in mine-a theme, and it will have aes­
thetic value . To that extent, it will be familiar and understandable.
But the pattern may be changed or broken by addition, by repe­
tition, by anything that will force you to a new perception of i t , and
these changes can never be predicted with absolute certainty because
they have not yet happened.
We do not know enough about how the present will lead into
the future. We shall never be able to say, "Ha! My perception , my ac­
counting for that series, will indeed cover its next and future compo­
nents, " or "Next time I meet with these phenomena, I shall be able to
predict their total course . "
Prediction can never be absolutely valid and therefore science can
never prove some generalization or even test a single descriptive statement
and in that way arrive at final truth.
There are other ways of arguing this impossibility. The argu­
men t of this book-which again, surely, can only convince you insofar
as What I say fits with what you know and which may be collapsed or to­
tall y changed in a few years-presupposes that science is a way 0/perceiv­
i�g and making what we may call "sense" of our percepts. But percep­
tIon operates only upon difference . All receipt of information is
necessarily the receipt of news of difference, and all perception of dif­
ference IS
' . ed by threshold. Differences that are too slight or too
l Imlt
slowly prese
nted are not perceivable. They are not food for perception.
ows that what we, as scientists, can perceive is always l im­
It�d by
threshold. That is, what is subliminal will not be grist for our
mIdI . Knowle
dge at any given moment will be a function of the thresh­
O ds of our
available means of perception. The invention of the micro...
scope or the telescope or of means of measuring time to the fraction of
nanosecond or weighing quantities of matter to millionths of a
all such improved devices of perception will disclose what was
unpredictable from the levels of perception that we could achieve
that discovery .
Not only can we not predict into the next instant of the fu
but , more profoundly, we cannot predict into the next dimension of
microscopic , the astronomically distant, or the geologically ancient . As
method of perception-and that is all science can claim to be--sci
like all other methods of perception , is limited in its ability to
the outward and visible signs of whatever may be truth .
Science probes; i t does not prove.
This principle, made famous by Alfred Korzybski ,
many levels. It reminds us in a general way that when we think of '-"'.V""_
nuts or pigs , there are no coconuts or pigs in the brain. But in a
abstract way , Korzybski's statement asserts that in all thought or percep­
tion or communication about perception , there is a transformation,
coding, between the report and the thing reported , the Ding an sich.
Above all , the relation between the report and that mysterious thing
ported tends to have the nature of a classification, an assignment of
thing to a class. Naming is always classifyi ng , and mapping is
tially the same as naming.
Korzybski was, on the whole, speaking as a philosopher,
tempting to persuade people to discipline their manner of thinking .
he could not win . When we come to apply his dictum to the natural
tory of human mental process , the matter is not quite so simple.
distinction between the name and the thing named or the map and
territory is perhaps really made only by the dominant hemisphere of
brain. The symbolic and affective hemisphere, normally on the
hand side, is probably unable to distinguish name from thing named.
is certainly not concerned with this sort of distinction. It therefore
pens that certain nonrational types of behavior are necessarily present
human life . We do, in fact , have two hemispheres; and we cannot
that fact. Each hemisphere does , in fact , operate somewhat
away from
di fferently from the other, and we cannot get away from the tangles that
tha t d; ffere nce proposes .
For example , with the dominant hemisphere, we can regard such
a th ing as a flag as a sort of name of the country or organization that it
represe nts. But the right hemisphere does not draw this distinction and
regards the flag as sacramentally identical with what it represents. So
" Old Glory" is the United States . If somebody steps on it , the response
may be rage. And this rage will not be dimini shed by an explanation of
map-territory relations. (After all , the man who tramples the flag is
equally identifying it with that for which it stands. ) There will always
and necessarily be a large number of situations in which the response is
not guided by the logical distinction between the name and the thing
named .
All experience is subjective. This is only a simple corollary of a
point made in section 4: that our brains make the images that we think
we "perceive.
It is significant that all perception-all conscious perception­
has image characteristics. A pain is localized somewhere. It has a
beginning and an end and a location and stands out against a back­
ground . These are the elementary components of an image . When some­
body steps on my toe , what I experience is, not his stepping on my toe ,
but my image of his stepping on my toe reconstructed from neural
reports reaching my brain somewhat after his foot has landed on mine.
Experience of the exterior is always mediated by particular sense organs
and neural pathways . To that extent , objects are my creation, and my
experience of them is subjective, not objective.
It is, however , not a trivial assertion to note that very few per­
sons, at least in occidental culture, doubt the objectivity of such sense
ata as pain or their visual images of the external world . Our civilization
IS deeply based on this illusion .
This generalization seems to be true of everything that happens
between my sometimes conscious action of directing a sense organ at
some source of information and my conscious action of deriving informa­
tion from an image that "I" seem to see , hear, feel , taste, or smell . Even
a pain is surely a created image .
No doubt men and donkeys and dogs are all conscious of listen­
ing and even of cocking their ears in the direction of sound. As for
sight , something moving in the periphery of my visual field will call
"attention" (whatever that means) so that I shift my eyes and even my
head to look at it . This is often a conscious act , but it is sometimes so
nearly automatic that it goes unnoticed . Often I am conscious of turning
my head bur unaware of the peripheral sighting that caused me to turn.
The peripheral retina receives a lot of information that remains outside
consciousness-possibly but not certainly in image form.
The processes of perception are inaccessible; only the products are
conscious and , of course, it is the products that are necessary . The two
general facts-first , that I am unconscious of the process of making the
images which I consciously see and , second , that in these unconscious
processes , I use a whole range of presuppositions which become built
into the finished image--a re, for me, the beginning of empirical epIS­
Of course, we all know that the images which we "see" are in­
deed manufactured by the brain or mind. But to know this in an intellec­
tual sense is very different from realizing that it is truly so . This aspect of
the matter came forcibly to my attention some thirty years ago in New
York, where Adalbert Ames, Jr . , was demonstrating his experiments
on how we endow our visual images with depth . Ames was an ophthal­
mologist who had worked with patients who suffered from anisoconia;
that i s , they formed images of different sizes in the two eyes . This led
him to study the subjective components of the perception of depth.
Because this matter is important and provides the very basis of empirical
or experimental epistemology, I will narrate my encounter with the
Ames experiments in some detail .
Ames had the experiments set up in a large, empty apartment in
" I
New York City. There were, as I recall , some fifty experiments. When I
arrived to see the show , I was the only visitor . Ames greeted me and
suggested that I start at the beginning of the sequence of demonstrations
while he went back to work for awhile in a small room furnished as an
office . Otherwise, the apartment contained no furniture except for two
folding deck chairs .
I went from one experiment to the next. Each contained some
sort of optical illusion affecting the perception of depth. The thesis of
the whole series was that we use five main clues to guide us in creating
the appearance of depth in the i mages that we create as we look out
through our eyes at the world .
The first of these clues is size; * that is , the size of the physical
image on the retina . Of course, we cannor see this image so it would be
more exact to say that the first clue to distance is the angle which the
object subtends at the eye. But indeed this angle is also not visible. The
clue to distance which is reported on the optic nerve is perhaps change in
angle subtended. t The demonstration of this truth was a pair of balloons
in a dark area. The balloons themselves were equally illuminated , but
their air could be passed from one balloon into the other. The balloons
themselves did not move, but as one grew and the other shrank, it ap­
peared to the observer that the one which grew, approached , and the one
which shrank, retreated . As the air was shifted from one balloon to the
other and back again, the balloons appeared to move alternately forward
and back .
The second clue was contrast in brightness . To demonstrate this,
the balloons stayed the same size and, of course , did not really move.
Only the illumination changed , shining first on one balloon and then on
the other. This alternation of illumination, like the alternation in size,
gave the balloons the appearance of approaching and retreating in turn as
the light fell first on one and then on the other.
Then the sequence of experiments showed that these two clues ,
size and brightness, could be played against each other to give a contra­
diction. The shrinking balloon now always got the more ligh t . This
.. More prec isely , I should ha\'e written: "The first of these clues is contrast in size
t [ observe not only that the processes of visual perception .ire i naccessible to consciousness
but also
that i t is impossible to construct i n words any acceptable description of what must happen i n the
simplest act of seeing. For that which is not conscious, the language provides no means of expres­
combined experiment introduced the idea that some clues are dominant
over others.
The total sequence of clues demonstrated that day included size ,
brightness , overlap , binocular parallax, and parallax created by move­
ments of the head . Of these , the most strongly dominant was parallax by
head motion.
After looking at twenty or thirty such demonstrations, I was
ready to take a break and went to sit in one of the folding deck chairs . I t
collapsed under me . Hearing the noise , Ames came out t o check that all
was well . He then stayed with me and demonstrated the two following
The first dealt with parallax (see Glossary). On a table perhaps
five feet long , there were two objects: a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes ,
supported on a slender spike some inches from the surface of the table
and a book of paper matches , similarly raised on a spike , at the far end
of the table.
Ames had me stand at the near end of the table and describe
what I saw; that is, the location of the two objects and how big they
seemed to be. (In Ames's experiments , you are always made to observe
the truth before being subjected to the illusions . )
Ames then pointed out t o me that there was a wooden plank
with a plain round hole in it set upright at the edge of the table at my
end so that I could look through the hole down the length of the table.
He had me look through this hole and tell him what I saw. Of course ,
the two objects still appeared to be where I knew them to be and to be
of their familiar sizes.
Looking through the hole in the plank , I had lost the crow's-eye
view of the table and was reduced to the use of a single eye. But Ames
suggested that I could get parallax on the objects by sliding the plank
sideways .
As I moved my eye sideways with the plank, the image changed
totally-as if by magic . The Lucky Strike pack was suddenly at the far
end of the table and appeared to be about twice as tall and twice as wide
as a normal pack of cigarettes . Even the surface of the paper of which the
pack was made had changed in texture. Its small irregularities were now
seemingly larger . The book of matches, on the other hand , suddenly ap34
peared to be of dollhouse size and to be located halfway down the length
of the table in the position where the pack of cigarettes had formerly
been seen to be.
What had happened?
The answer was simple. Under the table, where I could not see
were two levers or rods that moved the two objects sideways
as I moved the plank. In normal parallax, as we all know, when we look
out from a moving train, the objects close to us appear to be left behind
fast; the cows beside the railroad track do not stay to be observed . The
distant mountains, on the other hand, are left behind so slowly that , in
contrast with the cows , they seem almost to travel with the train.
In this case, the levers under the table caused the nearer object to
move along with the observer. The cigarette pack was made to act as if
it were far away; the book of matches was made to move as if it were
close by.
In other words , by moving my eye and with it the plank , I
created a reversed appearance. Under such circumstances , the uncon­
scious processes of image formation made the appropriate image. The in­
formation from the cigarette pack was read and built up to be the image
of a distant pack , but the height of the pack still subtended the same
angle at the eye . Therefore, the pack now appeared to be of giant size.
The book of matches , correspondingly, was brought seemingly close but
still subtended the same angle that it subtended from its true loca­
tion . What I created was an image in which the book of matches ap­
peared to be half as far away and half its familiar size.
The machinery of perception created the image in accordance
with the rules of parallax, rules that were for the first time clearly ver­
balized by painters in the Renaissance; and this whole process , the creat­
ing of the image with i ts built-in conclusions from the clues of parallax,
happened quite outside my consciousness . The rules of the universe that
we think we know are deep buried in our processes of perception.
Epistemology, at the natural history level , is mostly unconscious
and correspondingly difficult to change. The second experiment that
Ames demonstrated illustrates this difficulty of change .
This experiment has been called the trapezoidal room. In this case ,
Ames had me inspect a large box about five feet long , three feet high ,
and three feet deep from front to back . The box was of strange
zoidal shape, and Ames asked me to examine it carefully in order
learn its true shape and dimensions.
In the front of the box was a peephole big enough for two
but before beginning the experiment , Ames had me put on a pair
prismatic spectacles that would corrupt my binocular vision. I was
have the subjective presupposition that I had the parallax of two
when indeed I had almost no binocular clues.
When I looked in through the peephole, the interior of the
appeared to be quite rectangular and was marked out like a room
rectangular windows . The true lines of paint suggesting windows
of course, far from simple; they were drawn to give the impression
rectangularity, contradicting the true trapezoidal shape of the room.
side of the box toward which I faced when looking through the tJ,-,. tJ1J.V�\IIi
was , I knew from my earlier inspection, obliquely placed , so that it
further from me at the left end and closer to me on the right.
Ames gave me a stick and asked me to reach in and touch
the point of the stick a sheet of typewriting paper pinned to the
hand wall . I managed this fairly easily . Ames then said, "Do you see
similar piece of paper on the right-hand side? I want you to hit that
ond piece of paper with the stick. Start with the end of your
against the left-hand paper , and hit as hard as you can . "
I smote hard . The end o f m y stick moved about an inch and
hit the back of the room and could move no farther. Ames said,
I tried perhaps fifty times , and my arm began to ache. I knew,
course , what correction I had to impose on my movement: I had to
in as I struck in order to avoid that back wall . But what I did was
erned by my image. I was trying to pull against my own
movement . (I suppose that if I had shut my eyes, I could have done
ter, but I did not try that.)
I never did succeed in hitting the second piece of paper, but ,
terestingly, my performance improved . I was finally able to move
stick several inches before it hit the back wall . And as I practiced
imprwed my action, my i mage changed to give me a more trapezoidal
pression of the room's shape .
afterward that , indeed , with more practice , people
A m es told me
paper very easily and , at the same time, learned
to hi t the second
m in Its true trapezOIdal shape.
to s
Th e trap ez oidal room was the last in the sequence of experi-
a nd afte r it ' Ames suggested that we go to lunch. I went to wash
men tS ,
bat hroom of the apartment. I turned the faucet marked "C'
u in the
o f boiling water mixed with steam .
a d got a j et
Ames and I then went down to find a restaurant . My faith in my
ation was so shaken that I could scarcely Ctoss the street .
ow n im age form
the oncoming cars were really where they seemed to
I w as not sure that
ent .
be from mom ent to mom
In sum , there is no free will against the immediate commands of
the images that perception presents to the "mind's eye . " But through ar­
duous practice and self-correction , it is partly possible to alter those
images. (Such changes in
are further discussed in Chapter
I n spite of this beautiful experimentatio n , the fact of image for­
mation remains almost totally mysterious . How it is done , we know
not-nor, indeed , for what purpose .
It i s all very well to say that it makes a sort of adaptive sense t o
present only the images to consciousness without wasting psychological
process on consciousness of their making. But there is no clear primary
reason for using images at all or , indeed , for being
of any part of
Our mental processes .
Speculation suggests that image formation is perhaps a conve­
nien t or economical method of passing information across some sort of
Notably , where a person must act in a context between two
machines , it is convenient to have
the machines feed their i nformation to
him or her in ima ge form
A case that has been studied systematically is that of a gunner
CO trolli ng
antiaircraft fire on a naval ship . '*' The i nformation from a
sen es of sigh
ting devices aimed at a £lying target is summarized for the
gUn ne r in
the form of a moving dot on a screen ( i . e . , an image) . On the
same scre
. .
en is a s econ d dot , wh ose pOSitIOn
summanzes th e d IrectlOn
whi ch an
antl alrcralt
gun IS
aimed . The man can move this second dot
• Joh n StrOud , person
al communICat
ion .
by turni ng knobs on the device. These knobs also change the gun's aim .
The man must operate the knobs until the dots coincide o n the screen .
He then fires the gun .
The system contains two interfaces: sensory system-man and
man-effector system . Of course, it is conceivable that in such a case ,
both the i nput i nformation and the output i nformation could be pro­
cessed in digi tal form , without transformation into an iconic mode. But
it seems to me that the iconic device is surely more convenient not only
because, being human , I am a maker of mental images but also because
at these interfaces images are economical or efficient . If that speculation
is correct , then it would be reasonable to guess that mammals form
images because the mental processes of mammals must deal with many
There are some interesting side effects of our u nawareness of the
processes of perception . For example, when these processes work u n­
checked by input material from a sense organ , as in dream or hallucina­
tion or eidetic (see Glossary) imagery, it is sometimes difficult to doubt
the external reality of what the images seem to represent . Conversely , it
is perhaps a very good thing that we do
know too much about the
work of creati ng perceptual images . In our ignorance of that work , we
are free to
what our senses tell us. To doubt continually the evi­
dence of sensory report might be awkward .
I have tried many times to teach this generality to classes of
students and for this purpose have used Figure
The figure is presented
to the class as a reasonably accurate chalk drawing on the blackbaard ,
but without the letters marking the various angles . The class is asked to
* The question of formal necessity raised here might have an answer as fol lows: Evidently, the uni­
verse is characterized by an uneven distribution of causal and other types of linkage between its
parts; that is, there are regions of dense l i nkage separated from each other by regions of less dense
li nkage. It may be that there are necessari l y and inevitably processes which are responsive to the
density of interconnection so that density is Increased or sparsity i s made mort sparse. In such a
case . the universe would necessarily present an appearance in which wholes would be bounded by
the relative sparseness of their interconnection.
PIJ{lIre I
describe " i t " in a page of written English . When each student has fin­
ished his or her description , we compare the results . They fall into sev­
eral categories:
a. About 10 percent or less of students say , for example, that
the object is a boot or , more picturesquel y , the boot of a man with a
gOLlty toe or even a toilet . Evidently , from this and similar analogic or
iconic descriptions , it would be difficult for the hearer of the description
to reproduce the object.
b . A much larger number of students see that the object con­
tains most of a rectangle and most of a hexagon , and having divided it
into parts in this way , they then devote themselves to trying to describe
the relations between the incomplete rectangle and hexag on . A small
number of these (bu t , surprisingl y , usually one or two in every class)
di scover that a line ,
at a point
hexagon (Figure
I in
can be drawn and extended to cut the base
such a way that
will complete a regular
This imaginary line will define the proportions of
the rectangle but not , of course, the absolute lengths .
usually congrat­
ulate these students on their ability to create what resembles many scien­
tific hypotheses, which "explain" a perceptible regularity in terms of
some entity created by the i magination.
c. Many well-trained students resort to an operational method of
description . They will start from some point on the outline of the object
(int erestingly enough , always an angle) and proceed from there, usually
cloc kwise, with instructions for drawing the object .
Figure :1
d . There are also two other well-known ways of description that
no student has yet followed . No student has started from the statement
" It's made of chalk and blackboard . " No student has ever used the
method of the halftone block, dividing the surface of the blackboard i nto
a grid (arbitrarily rectangular) and reporting "yes" and "no" on whether
each box of the grid contains or does not contain some part of the objec t .
O f course, i f the grid is coarse and t h e object small , a very large amount
of i nformation will be los t . (Imagine the case in which the entire object
is smaller than the grid uni t . The descript ion will then consist of not
more than four nor less than one affirmation, according to how the
divisions of the grid fall upon the object . ) However , this is, in principle ,
how the halftone blocks of newspaper illustration are transmitted by
electric impulse and , indeed , how television works .
Note that all these methods of description contribute nothing to
of the object-the hexago-rectangle .
Explanation must
always grow out of description , but the description from which it grows
will always necessarily contain arbitrary characteristics such as those ex­
emplified here.
According to the popular image of science, everything is,
principle, predictable and controllable; and if some event or process is
not predictable and controllable in the present state of our knowledge , a
l i ttle more knowledge and , especiall y , a little more know-how will en­
able us to predict and control the wild variables.
This view is wrong , not merely in detail , but in principle. It is
even possible to define large classes of phenomena where prediction and
control are simply impossible for very basic but quite understandable
reasons . Perhaps the most familiar example of this class of phenomena i s
the breaking o f any superficially homogeneous material , such a s glass .
The Brownian movement (see Glossary) of molecules in liquids and gases
is similarly unpredictabl e .
I f I throw a stone a t a glass window, I shal l , under appropriate
circumstances , break or crack the glass in a star-shaped pattern. If my
stone hits the glass as fast as a bullet, it is possible that it will detach
from the glass a neat conical plug called a
cone 0/percussion.
If my stone is
too slow and too small , I may fai l to break the glass at all . Prediction
and control will be quite possible at this level . I can easily make sure
which of three results (the star, the percussion cone , or no breakage) I
shall achieve , ptovided I avoid marginal strengths of throw.
But within the conditions which produce the star-shaped break ,
it will be impossible to predict or control the pathways and the positions
of the arms of the star.
Curiously enough , the more precise my laboratory method s , the
more unpredictable the events will become. I f I use the most homoge­
neous glass availabl e , polish its surface to the most exact optical flatness ,
and control the motion of my stone as precisely as possible , ensuring an
almost precisely vertical impact on the surface of the glass , all my efforts
wi ll only make the events more impossible to predict .
If, on the other hand , I scratch the surface of the glass or use a
piece of glass that is already cracked (which would be cheating) , I shall
be able to make some approximate predictions . For some reason (un­
known to me) , the break in the glass will run parallel to the scratch and
about 1/ 1 00 of an inch to the side , so that the scratch mark will appear
on only one side of the break . Beyond the end of the scratch , the break
will veer off unpredictably .
Under tension , a chain will break at its weakest l ink . That much
is predictable. What is difficult is to identify the weakest link before it
breaks .
The generic U'e can knoU', but the specific eludes us.
Some chains are
designed to break at a certain tension and at a certain link . But a good
chain is homogeneous , and no prediction is possible . And becaus e
cannot know which l ink is weakest , we cannot know precisely
much tension will be needed to break the chai n .
I f w e heat a clear liquid (say , clean d istilled water) i n a
smooth beaker, at what poi nt will the first bubble of steam appear?
what temperature? And at what instant?
These questi ons are unanswerable unless there is a ti ny
in the inner surface of the beaker or a speck of dust in the liquid .
absence of such an evident nucleus for the beginning of the change
state, no pred iction is possible; and because we cannot say where
change will start , we also cannot say
when .
Therefore , we cannot say
what temperature boi ling will beg i n .
I f the experiment is critically performed-that i s , if the water
very clean and the beaker very smooth-there will be some
ing. In the end , the water will boil . In the end , there will always be
that can serve as the nucleus for the change. In the end ,
superheated liquid will "find"
this di fferentiated spot and will
explosively for a few moments until the temperature is reduced to
regular boiling poi nt appropriate to the surroundi ng barometric
The freezing of liquid is similar, as is the falling out of
from a supersaturated solution.
A nucleus-that i s , a d '
point , which in the case of a supersaturated solution may , indeed,
microscopic crystal-i s needed for the process to start .
We shall note elsewhere in this book that there is a deep gulf
tween statements about an identified individual and statements about
class . Such statements are of different
logical t)pe.
and prediction from
to the other is always unsure . The statement "The l iquid i s boi l i ng" is
different logical type from the statement "That molecule will be the
to go.
Thi s matter has a number of sorts of relevance to the theory
history , to the philosophy behi nd evolut i onary theory, and in genera1 �
our understanding of the world in which we live.
In the theory of history , Marxian phi losophy , following T
insists that the great men who have been the historic nuclei for
social change or invention are,
in a certain sense , irrelevant
pre cipita ted . It is argued , for example, that in 1 8 5 9 , the
s th ey
overripe) to create and reworl d was ready and ripe (perhaps
id ental
on that could reBect and justify the ethics of the
theory o f evoluti
cel ve a
that POlnt of View , Charles DarWin himself
tion .
trial Revolu
not put out his theory ,
ma de to appear unimportan t . I f he had
coul d be
within the next five
y else would have
som ebod
the parallelism between Alfred Russel Wallace's theory
years . Ind eed '
. ;;
Darwl O would seem at first Sight to support thi s view
and tha t of
i t , argue that there IS
The Marxian s would , as I understand
appropria te social forces t or ten­
a weakest l i n k , that
bou nd to be
individu al will be the first to start the trend , and that it
sions , som e
does not matter wh
, it
But ,
matter who starts the trend . I f it had been
a very different theory of
Wallace instead of Darwin , we would have had
might have occurred
evol ution today . The whole cybernetics movement
years earlier as a result of Wallace's comparison between the steam
engine with a governor and the process of natural selection . Or perhaps
the big theoretical step might have occurred in France and evolved from
the ideas of Claude Bernard who in the late ni neteenth centu ry , discov­
ered what later came to be called the
served that the
milieu interne-the
of the body. He ob­
i nternal environment-was balanced ,
self-correc ting .
It i s , I clai m , nonsense to say that it does not matter which indi­
vidual man acted as the nucleus for the change.
makes history unpredictable into the Illture.
It is precisely this that
The Marxian error is a simple
blu nder in logical typing , a confusion of individual with clas s .
e story is worth repeating. Wallace was a young naturalist who, in 1 8 5 6 (three years before the
' u l Icanon
' the min
I e In
af Ternate , I ndonesia, had an attack of ma' of DarWi. n . S Or'Igm ) . Wh'I
. rarests
laria and , follO .
Wing deI.rium, a psychedelic experience in which he discovered the principle of natu.
tal sel ectlOn.
in the �aIIOWi. e wrote t IS our I n a long letter to Darwin. In thIS letter he explained hIS dIScovery
ng words: "The action of this principle is exactly like that of the centflfugal governor
r:i the Steam e n .
L checks and corrects any i rregularities almost before they become evident;
glne, w h'ICJI
and i n I'k
; ;:,
no unbal anced deficiency in the animal k ingdom can ever reach any conspicuous
ause It would make itself fel t at the very first step, by rendering existence difficult
al most sure to follow . " (Reprinted in Darwin . a Norton Critical Edition. ed. Philip
. W . Narron , 1970. )
t illOtl'ce th
e use o f p h YS lcal metaphor, Inappropnate
to the creatural phenomena being discussed.
I1.ndeed ' it may
be argu ed ha
between social biological matters , on the one
'OiU\d , and phYSic
al processes, on the other, is a monstrous use of inappropriate metaphor.
and exti nct i
This generality is the converse of the generality examined i n sec­
and the relation between the twO
depe nds
on the COntrast be­
tween the concepts of divergence and convergence. This cont rast is a
special case, although a very fundamental one , of the difference between
successive levels i n a Russellian hierarchy , a matter to be discussed in
Chapter 4 . For the momen t , it should be noted that the components of a
Russell ian hierarchy are ro each other
member ro class ,
class to class
of classes , or as thing named ro name.
What is important about divergent sequ ences is that our descrip­
tion of them concerns
especially i n dividual molecules. The
crack in the glas s , the first step in the beg i nni ng of the boi l i ng of water,
and all the rest are cases in which the locat i o n a nd instant of the event is
determined by some momentary conste l l at i o n of a small number of indi­
vidual molecules. Similarl y , any description of the pathways of i ndivid­
ual molecules in Brownian movement allows for no extrapolation. What
happens at one moment , even if we could k n ow it , would not give us
data to predict what will happen at the nex t .
I n contrast , the movement o f planet s
i n the solar system, the
trend of a chemical reaction in an ionic mixture of sal ts , the impact of
billiard bal l s , which involves millions of m o l ecules-all are predictable
because our description of the events has as i t s subject matter the behav­
ior of immense crowds or classes of i ndividuals . It is this that gives
science some j ustification for statistics , providi ng the statistician always
remembers that his statements have reference o nly to aggregates .
In this sense, the so-called laws of probability mediate between
descriptions of the behavior of the individual a nd descriptions of that of
the gross crowd . We shall see later that this particular sort of conflict
between the individual and the statistical has dogged the development of
evolutionary theory from the time of Lamarck onward . If Lamarck had
asserted that changes in environment would affect the general character­
istics of whole popu lations, he would have been in step with the latest
genetic experiments such as those of Waddi ngton on genetic assimila­
tion , to be discussed in Chapter
But Lama rck and , indeed, his fol­
lowers ever since have seemed to have an inna t e procl ivity for confusion
of 10gId ty� 'pes , (This matter and the corresponding confusions of ortho­
dox eY Lcic"0nists will be discussed in Chapter
a.. tIl that a s i t may , in the stochastic processes (see Glossary) ei­
t her ot :10 1 ' ,ution or of thought , the new can be plucked from nowhere
bu t the rmclom . And to pluck the new from the random , if and when it
happer.; (.)
show itself, requires some sort of selective machinery to ac­
cou nt h t h . �e ongoing persistence of the new idea. Something like
in all its truism and tautology , must obtai n . To persi st , the
ral sel,:::01 .
b . ·e of such a sOrt that it wil l endure longer than the alterna­
tives. \\hr-r lasts longer among the ripples of the random must last
those ripples that last not so long . That is the theory of nat­
ural sele::i o .n in a nutshell .
Marxian view of history-which in its crudest form would
argue that it-:-- Darwin had not written
The Origin 0/ Species,
somebody else
would tT e
produced a similar book within the next five years-is an
effort to apply a theory that would view social process as
'ents involving unique human beings. The error I S , agal O ,
[ ) e\
one o f j')g:c..;31 typing .
quotation from
wholt ;eri�s
King Lear
telescopes into a single utterance a
of medieval and more modern wise saws . These include:
., rhe law of the conservation of matter and its converse , that
no nell matt -er can be expected to make an appearance in the laboratory.
(Lucr r::us sa �id , "Nothi ng can ever be created out of nothing by divine
power ")
b. r " he law of the conservation of energy and its converse , that
no ne, ener.:', gy can be expected in the laboratory .
T he principle demonstrated by Pasteur , that no new livi ng
matte :an I::- 'e expected to appear in the laboratory .
J. rhe principle that no new order or pattern can be created
with ( �: infor"mation.
" lucw � . On
�, Nature 0/ the Unit'er.re. translated by Ronald E. Lathan (Bal timore: Penguin
Of all these and other similar negative statements , it may be said
that they are rules for expectation rather than laws of nature. They are so
nearly true that all exceptions are of extreme interest .
What is especially interesting is hidden in the relations between
these profound negations. For example , we know today that between the
conservation of energy and the conservation of matter, there is a bridge
whereby each of these negations is itself negated by an interchange of
matter into energy and , presumably , of energy into matter.
I n the present connection , however, i t is the last of the series
th" t is of chief interest , the proposition that in the realms of com­
munication, organization, thought , learn i ng , and evolution , "nothing
will come of nothing" without
This law differs from the conservative laws of energy and mass i n
that it contains n o clause to deny the destruction and loss o f informa­
tion, pattern , or negative entropy . Alas-but also be glad of it-pattern
and/or information is all too easily eaten up by the random . The mes­
sages and guidelines for order exist only , as it were, in sand
are writ­
ten on the surface of waters. Almost any disturbanc e , even mere Brown­
ian movemen t ,
will destroy the m .
I nformation can be forgotten or
blurred . The code books can be lost.
The messages cease to be messages when nobody can read them .
Without a Rosetta stone, we would know nothi ng of all that was writ­
ten in Egyptian hieroglyphs . They would be only elegant ornaments on
papyrus or roc k . To be meaningful-even to be recognized as pattern­
every regularity must meet with complementary regularities, perhaps
skill s , and these ski l ls are as evanescent as the patterns themselves.
They , too, are written on sand or the surface of waters .
The genesis of the skill ro respond to the message is the obverse,
the other side of the process of evolution. It is
(see Glossary).
Paradoxically , the deep partial truth that "nothing will come of
nothing" in the world of information and organization encounters an i n­
teresting contradiction in the circumstance that
the complete ab­
sence of any indicative event , can be a message. The larval tick c limbs a
tree and waits on some outer twig . If he smells sweat , he falls , perhaps
landing on a mammal . But if he smells
no sweat
after some weeks , he
fall s and goes to climb another tree.
The letter that you do not write , the apology you do not offer ,
the food that you do not put Out for the cat-all these can be sufficient
and effective messages because zero,
in context,
can be meaningful; and it
is the recipient of the message who creates the context . This power to
is the recipient's ski l l ; to acquire which is his half of the
coevolution menti oned above. He or she must acquire that skill by
learning or by lucky mutation , that is, by a successful raid on the ran­
dom . The recipient must be , in some sense , ready for the appropriate d is­
covery when i t comes.
Thus , the converse of the proposition that "nothing will come of
noth i ng " without information is conceivably possible with stochastic
process .
can serve to select components of the random which
thereby become new information . But always a supply of random ap­
pearances must be available from which new i nformation can be made.
This circumstance splits the entire field of organization , evolu­
tio n , maturation and learning , into two separate realms , of which one is
the realm of epigenesis, or embryolog y , and the other the realm of
evolution and learning.
is the word preferred by C. H . \'V'addington for his
central field of i nteres t , whose old name was
fact that every embryological step is an act
which must be bui lt
embryology .
of becoming
It stresses the
the immediate status quo ante.
Characteristicall y, Waddington was contemptuous of conventional infor­
mation theory , which allowed nothing , as he saw i t , for the "new" infor­
mation he fel t was generated at each stage of epigenesis . Indeed , accord­
ing to conventional theory, there is no new i nformation in this case.
Ideally , epigenesis should resemble the development of a com­
plex tautology (see Glossary) in which nothing is added after the axioms
and definitions have been laid down . The Pythagorean theorem is im­
plicit (i . e. , already folded into) Euclid's axiom s , definitions , and postu­
lates. All that is required is its unfolding and , for human being s , some
knowledge of the order of steps to be taken. This latter species of infor­
mation will become necessary only when Euclid's tautology is modeled
in words and symbols sequentially arranged on paper or in time . In the
ideal tautology , there is no time, no unfolding, and no argumen t . What
is i mplicit is there , but , of course , not l ocated in space .
I n contrast wi th epigenesis and tautolog y , which constitute the
Worlds of replicati on, there is the whole realm of creativi t y , art , learn-
ing , and evolution, in which the ongoing processes of change feed
The essence of epigenesis is predictable repeti t i on; the
learning and evolution is exploration and change.
I n the transmission of human culture , people always
repl icate,
pass on to the next generation the ski lls and val ues of "
parents; but the attempt always and i nevitably fai ls
transmission is geared to learning , not to
The process of
mission of culture is a sort of hybrid or mix-up of the two real ms"
must attempt to use the phenomena of l earning for the
replication because what the parents have was learned by the m .
DNA that would
be different and perhaps
offspring miraculously h a d the
give them the
ski l l s , those ski l l s would
It is interesting that between the two worlds is the cultural
nomenon of
mapping onto ;; tautology of
sequences of events .
Final l y , it w i l l be noted that the rea l ms of epigenesis
evolution are , at a deeper level , typi fied in the twin paradigms of
second law of thermodynamics: ( 1) that the random workings of
bility will always eat up order , pattern , and negative entropy but
that for the creation of new order , the workings of the random ,
plethora of uncommitted alternatives (entropy) is necessary. It i s
the random that organisms collect new mutations , and it i s there
stochastic learning gathers its solutions . Evolution leads to c l imax:
logical saturation of all the possi b i lities of differentiati on. Learning
to the overpacked m i nd . By return to the u nlearned and
egg, the ongoing species agai n and again clears its memory banks
ready for the new .
• I USe the phrase , to map onto, for the following reasons : All description, explanation , or
ration is necessarily in some sense a mapping of derivatives from the phenomena to be
onto sonle 5Ur£'1Ce or matrix or system of coordinates. In the case of an actual map j the
matrix is commonly a flat sheet of paper of finite extent , and difficulties occur when that
be mapped is roo big or, for example, spherical . Other difficulties would be generated if
ing matrix were the su rface of a rorus (d'lughnut) or if it were a discontinuous line
points. Every receiving matrix, even a language or a tautological network of
its formal characteristics which will
in principle be distortive of the phenomena to be
it. The universe was, perhaps, designed by Procrustes, that si nister character of Greek
whose inn every traveler had to fit the bed on pain of amputation or elongation of the legS.
sCIence ,
In SI.de
Thi s difference is basic for any sort of theorizing in behavioral
of what goes on between organi sms or
for any sort of imagining
rgan ism s as part of theIr processes of thought.
Numbers are the product of counting . Quantities are the product of
This means that numbers can conceivably be accurate
flleasu rement .
is a disconti nuity between each integer and the next . Bebecause the re
and three, there is a j ump . I n the case of quantity, there is no
tween tUlo
and because jump is missing in the world of quant i t y , it i s
su ch jump ;
quantity to be exact . You can have exactly three
impossib le for any
never have exactly three gallons of water. Always
tomatoe s. You
quantity is approximate.
Even when number and quantity are clearly discrimi nated , there
is another concept that must be recognized and distinguished from both
number and quantity. For this other concept , there is, I thi nk, no En­
glish word , so we have to be content with remembering that there is a
subset of patterm whose members are commonly called "numbers . " Not
all numbers are the products of counting. Indeed, it is the smaller , and
therefore commoner, numbers that are often not counted but recognized
patterns at a single glance . Cardplayers do not stop to count the pips
in the eight of spades and can even recognize the characteristic pattern­
ing of pips up to "ten . "
In other words, number is of the world of pattern , gestalt , and
digital computation; quantity is of the world of analogic and probabilis­
tic computation .
Some birds can somehow distinguish number u
p to seven. B u t
Whether this is
done b y counting o r by pattern recognition is not
known The
experiment that came closest to testing this difference be­
:een the two
methods was performed by Otto Koehler wi th a jackdaw .
& ne bud Was t
rarne d to the 101l0wrng
routIne: A number of small cups
" Ith lid s
are set out . I n these cups, small
pieces of meat are placed.
s have one piece of mea t , some have two or three, and some
Ps have non e. S eparate firom the cups ,
there is a plate on which there
a number of pIec
es of meat greater than the tOtal number of pieces in
cups . The Jac
· kdaw I earns to open each
cup, taklOg off the hd , and
then eats a
ny pIe
ces of meat that are in the cup. Finally , when he has
eaten all the meat in the cups , he may go to the plate and there eat the
same number of pieces of meat that he got from the cups. The bird is
punished if he eats more meat from the plate than was i n the cups. This
routine he is able to learn.
Now , the question is: Is the jackdaw counti ng the pieces of
meat, or is he using some alternative method of identifying the number
of pieces? The experiment has been carefully designed to push the bird
toward counting . H is actions are interrupted by his having to lift the
lids , and the sequence has been further confused by having some cups
contain more than one piece of meat and some contain none. By these
devices, the experimenter has tried to make it impossible for the jack­
daw to create some sort of pattern or rhythm by which to recognize the
number of the pieces of meat. The bird is thus forced , so far as the ex­
perimenter could force the matter, to count the pieces of meat.
It is still conceivable, of course , that the taking of the meat from
the cups becomes some sort of rhythmic dance and that this rhythm is in
some way repeated when the bird takes the meat from the plate . The
matter is still conceivably in doubt, but on the whole, the experiment is
rather convincing in favor of the hypothesis that the jackdaw is counting
the pieces of meat rather than recognizing a pattern either of pieces or of
his own actions .
It is interesting to look at the biological world in terms of this
question: Should the various i nstances in which number is exhibited be
regarded as instances of gestalt , of counted number, or of mere quantity?
There is a rather conspicuous difference between, for example, the state­
ment "This single rose has five petals , and it has five sepals, and indeed
its symmetry is of a pentad pattern" and the statement "This rose has
one hundred and twelve stamens, and that other has ninety-seven, and
this has only sixty-four . " The process which controls the number of
stamens is surely different from the process that controls the number of
petals or sepals . And, interestingly, in the double rose, what seems to
have happened is that some of the stamens have been converted into pet­
als , so that the process for determining how many petals to make has
now become, not the normal process delimiting petals to a pattern of
five, but more like the process determining the quantity of stamens. We
may say that petals are normally "five" in the single rose but that
stamens are "many" where "many" is a quantity that will vary from one
rose to another.
With this difference in mind , we can look at the biological
world and ask what is the largest number that the processes of growth
can handle as a fixed pattern, beyond which the matter is handled as
quantity. So far as I know, the "numbers" two, three, four, and five are
the common ones in the symmetry of plants and animals, particularly in
radial symmetry.
The reader may find pleasure in collecting cases of rigidly con­
trolled or patterned numbers in nature. For some reason , the larger
numbers seem to be confined to linear series of segments, such as the
vertebrae of mammals, the abdominal segments of insects, and the an­
terior segmentation of earthworms. (At the front end , the segmentation
is rather rigidly controlled down to the segments bearing genital organs .
The numbers vary with the species but may reach fifteen . After that, the
tail has " many" segments. ) An interesting addition to these observations
is the common circumstance that an organism, having chosen a number
for the radial symmetry of some set of parts, will repeat that number in
other parts. A lily has three sepals and then three petals and then six
stamens and a trilocular ovary.
It appears that what seemed to be a quirk or peculiarity of
human operation-namely , that we occidental humans get numbers by
counting or pattern recognition while we get quantities by measure­
ment-turns out to be some sort of universal truth. Not only the jack­
daw but also the rose are constrained to show that for them , too---for the
rose in its anatomy and for the jackdaw in its behavior (and, of course , in
its vertebral segmentation)--there is this profound difference between
numbers and quantity.
What does this mean? That question is very ancient and cer­
tai nly goes back to Pythagoras, who is said to have encountered a similar
reg ularity in the relation between harmonics .
The hexago-rectangle discussed in section 5 provides a means of
pos ing these questions . We saw , in that case, that the components of
description could be quite various. In that particular case, to attach
more validity to one rather than to another way 0/ organizing the descrip­
tion would be to indulge illusion . But in this matter of biological
numbers anc 1uantities, it seems that we encounter something
profound. DjtS this case differ from that of the hexago-rectangle? An<i
so, how?
I SUEt�st that neither case is as trivial as the problems ot
hexago-recta:.,;,e seemed to be at first sight. We go back to the ece
verities of Sa.:,: Augustine: " Listen to the thunder of that saint , i n
A . D . 500: 7 d 3 are 1 0 ; 7 and 3 have always been 10; 7 and 3 at
time and in :.' way have ever been anything but 10; 7 and 3 will al
be 10 . " *
No O�Jt , i n asserting the contrast between numbers and q
tities, I am :.Jse to asserting an eternal verity, and Augustine
surely agree
But ,,: can reply to the saint, "Yes, very true. But is that
what you w,,:: and mean to say? It is also true, surely , that 3 and
10, and th a: = ,md 1 and 7 are 10, and that 1 and 1 and 1 and 1 and
and 1 and : :.nd 1 and 1 and 1 are 10. In fact, the eternal verity
you are trF� to assert is much more general and profound than
special case :.sed by you to carry that profound message . " But we
agree that tJt :nore abstract eternal verity will be difficult to state
unambiguow rrecision.
In Otr.:f words, it is possible that many of the ways of descri
my hexago-r:�l.mgle could be only different surfacings of the same
profound a,,: more general tautology (where Euclidean geometry
viewed as a '"urological system).
It is. I chink, correct to say, not only that the various phrasi
of the deSGI;llOn of the hexago-rectangle ultimately agree about
the describers thought they saw but also that there is an ag
about a sin€.e more general and profound tautology in terms of
the various :escriptions are organized.
In tn:s sense , the distinction between numbers and quantities
I believe, n,�:rivial and is shown to be so by the anatomy of the
with its "5 �tals and its "many" stamens, and I have put quota
marks into mv description of the rose to suggest that the names of
numbers anc Jf the quantities are the surfaci ng of formal idea s ,
manent withn the growing rose.
• So quoted bY ".eren McCulloch in Embodiments
of Mind (Cambridge:
MIT Press, 1965).
sible, in principle, to explain any pattern by invoking
I t is impos
quantities is already
quantit y. But note that a ratio between two
a � �Ie
and pattern are of
ni ng of
e begin
logica l type ;o and do not readily fit together in the same think­
i erent
ing .
What appears to be a genesis of pattern by quantity arises where
was latent before the quantity had impact on the system .
the Pattern
case i s that of tension whi ch will break a chain at the
The famil iar
er change of a quantity, tension , a latent difference is
weakest link . Und
rs would say, developed . The de­
made manifest or, as the photographe
velopment of a photographic negative is precisely the making manifest
by previous
of latent differences laid down in the photographic emulsion
differential exposure to light
Imagine an island with two mountains on it. A quantitative
change, a rise, in the level of the ocean may convert this single island
into two islands. This will happen at the point where the level of the
ocean rises higher than the saddle between the two mountains. Again,
the qualitative pattern was latent before the quantity had impact on it;
and when the pattern changed , the change was sudden and discontinuous .
There is a strong tendency in explanatory prose to invoke quanti­
ties of tension , energy, and whatnot to explain the genesis of pattern. I
believe that all such explanations are inappropriate or wrong . From the
point of view of any agent who imposes a quantitative change, any
change o f pattern which
may occur will be unpredictable or divergent.
crease A monotone value is one that either only increases or only des . Its curve has
changes from
ellenllnd RUSseI I' s
no kinks; that is, its curve never
- lection of Ch
be d 'scussed In some detail later, especially
concept 0f l oglCa
' I type wIll
in rhe
ter 4. For the present, understand that because
a class cannot be a member of it­
n t t
can be drawn only from multiple cases (e .g. , from
differences between pairs of
� of d f,ere nt
logIcal type from conclusions drawn from a single item
(e . g . , from a quan) , (Also See Glo
ssaty . )
increase to decrease or vice versa. Desired substances , things , patterns ,
or sequences of experience that are in some sense "good" for the
organism-items of diet , conditions of life, temperature, entertainment ,
sex, and so forth-are never such that more of the something is always
better than less of the something . Rather, for all objects and experi­
ences , there is a quantity that has optimum value. Above that quantity,
the variable becomes toxic. To fall below that value is to be deprived .
This characteristic of biological value does not hold for money.
Money is always transitively valued . More money is supposedly always
better than less money. For example, $ 1 ,00 1 is to be preferred to
$ 1 ,000. But this is not so for biological values. More calcium is not
always better than less calcium. There is an optimum quantity of cal­
cium that a given organism may need in its diet. Beyond this, calcium
becomes toxic . Similarly, for oxygen that we breathe or foods or compo­
nents of diet and probably all components of relationship, enough is bet­
ter than a feast . We can even have too much psychotherapy. A rela­
tionship with no combat in it is dull , and a relationship with too much
combat in it is toxic . What is desirable is a relationship with a certain
optimum of conflict. It is even possible that when we consider money,
not by itself, but as acting on human beings who own it, we may find
that money, too, becomes toxic beyond a certain point. In any case , the
philosophy of money, the set of presuppositions by which money is sup­
posedly better and better the more you have of it, is totally an­
tibiolog ical . It seems, nevertheless, that this philosophy can be taught
to living things .
Perhaps no variable brings the problems of being alive so vividly
and clearly before the analyst's eye as does size. The elephant is affli cted
with the problems of bigness; the shrew , with those of smallness. But
for each, there is an optimum size. The elephant would not be better off
if he were much smaller, nor would the shrew be relieved by being
much bigger. We may say that each is addicted to the size that is.
There are purely physical problems of bigness or smallness , prob­
lems that affect the solar system, the bridge, and the wristwatch. But in
addition to these, there are problems special to aggregates of living mat­
ter, whether these be single creatures or whole cities.
Let us first look at the physical. Problems of mechanical instabil­
because, for example, the forces of gravity do not follow the
same quantitative regularities as those of cohesion. A large clod of earth
is easier to break by dropping it on the ground than is a small one . The
glacier grows and therefore , partly melting and partly breaking , must
begin a changed existence in the form of avalanches, smaller units that
must fall off the larger matrix. Conversely , even in the physical uni­
verse, the very small may become unstable because the relation between
su rface area and weight is nonlinear. We break up any material which
we wish to dissolve because the smaller pieces have a greater ratio of sur­
face to volume and will therefore give more access to the solvent. The
larger lumps will be the last to disappear. And so on .
To carry these thoughts over into the more complex world of liv­
ing things , a fable may be offered:
They say the Nobel people are still embarrassed when anybody mentions
polyploid horses. Anyhow, Dr. P. U. Posif, the great Erewhonian gene­
ticist, got his prize in the late 1980s for jiggling with the DNA of the
common cart horse (Equus cabal/us ) . It was said that he made a great
contribution to the then new science of transportology. At any rate , he
gOt his prize for creating-no other word would be good enough for a
piece of applied science so nearly usurping the role of deity--creating , I
say , a horse precisely twice the size of the ordinary Clydesdale. It was
twice as long, twice as high, and twice as thick. It was a polyploid ,
with four times the usual number of chromosomes.
P. U. Posif always claimed that there was a time , when this wonderful
animal was still a col t, when it was able to stand on its four legs . A
wonderful sight it must have been! But anyhow, by the time the horse
was shown to the public and recorded with all the communicational
devices of modern civilization, the horse was not doing any standing . I n
a word, it was
too heavy.
It weighed , o f course , eight times as much as a
normal Clydesdale.
For a public showing and for the media , Dr. Posif always insisted on
turning off the hoses that were continuously necessary to keep the beast
at normal mammalian temperature. But we were always afraid that the
innermost parts would begin to cook. After all , the poor beast's skin
and dermal fat were twice as thick as normal , and its surface area was
only four times that of a normal horse, so it didn't cool properly.
Every morning, the horse had to be raised to its feet with the aid of a
small crane and hung in a sort of box on wheels , in which it was sus-
pended on springs , adjusted to take half its weight off its legs.
Dr. Posif used to claim that the animal was outstandingly intelligent. It
had , of course, eight times as much brain (by weight) as any other !
horse, but I could never see that it was concerned with any questions
more complex than those which interest other horses . It had very little
free time, what with one thing and another-always panting , partly to
keep cool and partly to oxygenate its eight-times body. Its windpipe,
after al l , had only four times the normal area of cross section.
And then there was e-ating. Somehow it had to eat , every day , eight
times the amount that would satisfy a normal horse and had to push all
that food down an esophagus only four times the caliber of the normal .
The blood vessels , too , were reduced in relative size, and this made
circulation more difficult and put extra strain on the heart.
A sad beast.
The fable shows what inevitably happens when two or more vari­
ables , whose curves are discrepant , interact. That is what produces the
interaction between change and tolerance. For instance , gradual growth ,
in a population, whether of automobiles or of people, has no perceptible
effect upon a transportation system until suddenly the threshold of toler­
ance is passed and the traffic jams . The changing of one variable exposes
a critical value of the other.
Of all such cases, the best known today is the behavior of
sionable material in the atom bomb. The uranium occurs in nature and � '
i s continually undergoing fission, but no explosion occurs because no
chain reaction is established . Each atom , as it bre-aks , gives off neutronS i
that , if they hit another uranium atom , may cause fission , but many.
neutrons are merely lost. Unless the lump of uranium is of critical size. '
an average of less than one neutron from e-ach fission will bre-ak an other
atom , and the chain will dwindle. If the lump is made bigger , a larger ,
fraction of the neutrons will hit uranium atoms to cause fission. The pro­
cess will then achieve positive exponential gain and become an explosi on.
In the case of the imaginary horse, length, surface area, and
volume (or mass) become discrepant because their curves of increase
h ave m utuaIIy nonlinear characteristics . Surface varies as the square of
length , volume varies as the cube of length, and surface varies as the ¥3
p ower of volume .
For the horse (and for all real creatures) , the matter becomes
more serious because to remain alive, many internal motions must be
mai ntained . There is an i nternal logistics of blood , food , oxygen, and
excr etory products and a logistics of information in the form of neural
and hormonal messages.
The harbor porpoise , which is about three feet long , with a
jacket of blubber about one inch thick and a surface area of about six
square feet , has a known heat budget that balances comfortably in Arctic
waters . The heat budget of a big whal e , which is about ten times the
length of the porpoise (i . e . ,
1 , 000 times the volume and 1 00 times the
surface) , with a blubber jacket nearly twelve i nches thick, is totally mys­
terious . Presumably , they have a superior logistic system moving blood
through the dorsal tins and tail flukes , where all cetaceans get rid of
heat .
The fact of growth adds another order of complexity to the
problems of bigness in living things. Will
alter the proportions
of the organism ? These problems of the limitation of growth are met in
very different ways by different creatures.
A simple case is that of the palms, which do not adjust their
girth to compensate for their height. An oak tree with growing tissue
(cambium) between i ts wood , and its bark grows in length and width
throughour i ts life . But a coconut pal m , whose only growing tissue is at
the apex of the trunk (the so-called millionaire's salad , whi ch can only
be gOt at the price of killing the palm) , simply gets taller and taller,
with some slow i ncrease of the bole at its base. For thi s organism , the
li mitation of height is simply a normal part of its adaptation to a niche.
The sheer mechanical i nstability of excessive height without compensa­
tion in girth provides its normal way of death.
Many plants avoid (or solve?) these problems of the l im itation of
growth by linking their life-span to the calendar or to their own repro­
dU Ctive cycle. Annuals start a new generation each year , and plants l ike
the so-called century plant (yucca) may live many years bur , like the
salmon , inevitably die when they reproduce. Except for multiple branch­
ing within the flowering head , the yucca makes no branches. The
branching i nflorescence itself is its terminal stem; when that has com­
pleted its function , the plant dies. Its death is normal to its way of life.
Among some higher animals, growth is controlled. The creature
reaches a size or age or stage at which growth simply stops ( i . e. , is
stopped by chemical or other messages within the organization of the
creature). The cells, under control , cease to grow and divide. When con­
trols no longer operate (by failure to generate the message or failure to
receive it), the result is cancer. Where do such messages originate, what
triggers their sending, and in what presumably chemical code are these
messages immanent? What controls the nearly perfect external bilateral
symmetry of the mammalian body? We have remarkably little knowl­
edge of the message system that Gontrols growth . There must be a whole
interlocking system as yet scarcely studied .
We use the same words to talk about logical sequences and about
sequences of cause and effect . We say , " If Euclid's definitions and postu­
lates are accepted, then two triangles having three sides of the one equal
to three sides of the other are equal each to each. " And we say, "If the
temperature falls below aOc, then the water begins to become ice . "
But the if . . . then of logic i n the syllogism i s very different
from the if . . . then of cause and effect.
In a computer, which works by cause and effect , with one tran­
sistor triggering another, the sequences of cause and effect are used to
simulate logic . Thirty years ago, we used to ask: Can a computer simulate
all the processes of logic? The answer was yes, but the question was
surely wrong . We should have asked: Can logic simulate all sequences of
cause and effect? And the answer would have been no.
When the sequences of cause and effect become circular (or more
complex than circular), then the description or mapping of those
sequences onto timeless logic becomes self-contradictory. Paradoxes are
generated that pure logic cannot tolerate. An ordinary buzzer circuit will
serve as an example, a single instance of the apparent paradoxes gen-
Figure 3
erated i n a million cases of homeostasis throughout biology. The buzzer
circuit (see Figure 3) is so rigged that current will pass around the cir­
cuit when the armature makes contact with the electrode at A . But the
passage of current activates the electromagnet that will draw the arma­
ture away, breaking the contact at A . The current will then cease to pass
around the circui t , the electromagnet will become inactive, and the
armature will return ro make contact at A and so repeat the cycle.
If we spell out this cycle onto a causal sequence, we get the following:
If contact is made at A, then the magnet is activated .
If the magnet is activated , then contact at A is broken.
If contact at A is broken, then the magnet is inactivated .
If magnet is inactivated, then contact is made.
This sequence is perfectly satisfactory provided it is clearly understood
that the if . . . then junctures are causal. But the bad pun that would
move the ifs and thens over into the world of logic will create havoc:
If the contact is made, then the contact is broken.
If P, then not P.
The if . . . then of causality contains time, but the if . . . then
of logic is timeless . It follows that logic is an i ncomplete model of
cau sality .
Logic can often be reversed , but the effect does not precede the
cause. This generalization has been a stumbling block for the psycho­
logical and biological sciences since the times of Plato and Aristotle. The
Greeks were inclined to believe in what were later called final causes.
They believed that the pattern generated at the end of a sequence of
events could be regarded as in some way causal of the pathway followed
by that sequence. This led to the whole of teleology, as it was called
(telos meaning the end or purpose of a sequence).
The problem which confronted biological thinkers was the prob­
lem of adaptation. It appeared that a crab had claws in order to hold
things . The difficulty was always in arguing backward from the purpose
of claws to the causation of the development of claws . For a long time, it
was considered heretical in biology to believe that claws were there
because they were useful . This belief contained the teleological fallacy, an
inversion of causality in time.
Lineal thinking will always generate either the teleological fal­
lacy (that end determines process) or the myth of some supernatural con­
trolling agency.
What is the case is that when causal systems become circular (a
matter to be discussed in Chapter 4), a change in any part of the circle
can be regarded as cause for change at a later time in any variable any­
where in the circle. It thus appears that a rise in the temperature of the
room can be regarded as the cause of the change in the switch of the
thermostat and, alternatively, that the action of the thermostat can be
regarded as controlling the temperature of the room .
We commonly speak as though a single "thing" could "have"
some characteristic. A stone, we say, is "hard , " "smal l , " "heavy, " "yel­
low, " "dense, " "fragile , " "hot , " "moving, " "stationary , " "visible, " "ed­
ible , " "inedible, " and so on.
That is how our language is made: "The stone is hard . " And so
on. And that way of talking is good enough for the marketplace: "That
is a new brand . " "The potatoes are rotten. " "The eggs are fresh. " "The
contai ner is damaged. " "The diamond is flawed . " "A pound of apples is
enough . " And so on .
But this way of talking is not good enough in science or epis­
temology. To think straight , it is advisable to expect all qualities and
attribu tes, adjectives, and so on to refer to at least two sets of interac­
tions in time.
"The stone is hard" means a) that when poked it resisted pene­
tration and b) that certain continual interactions among the molecular
parts of the stone in some way bond the parts together.
"The stone is stationary" comments on the location of the stone
relative to the location of the speaker and other possible moving things .
It also comments on matters internal to the stone: i ts i nertia, lack of in­
ternal distortion , lack of friction at the surface, and so on.
Language continually asserts by the syntax of subject and predi­
cate that "things" somehow "have" qualities and attributes . A more
precise way of talking would insist that the "things" are produced, are
seen as separate from other "things, " and are made " real" by their inter­
nal relations and by their behavior in relationship with other things and
with the speaker.
It is necessary to be quite clear about the universal truth that
whatever "things" may be in their pleromatic and thingish world , they
can only enter the world of communication and meaning by their names,
their qualities and their attributes (i . e . , by reports of their internal and
external relations and interactions).
'-- .
In other parts of this book, the word stable and also, necessarily,
the word change will become very important. It is therefore wise to ex­
amine these words now in the introductory phase of our task. What
traps do these words contain or conceal?
Stable is commonly used as an adjective applied to a thing. A
chemical compound, house, ecosystem, or government is described as
stable. If we pursue this matter further, we shall be told that the stable
object is unchanging under the impact or stress of some particular exter­
nal or internal variable or, perhaps, that it resists the passage of time.
If we start to investigate what lies behind this use of stability, we
shall find a wide range of mechanisms. At the simplest level , we have
simple physical hardness or viscosity , qualities descriptive of relations of
impact between the stable object and some other. At more complex
levels , the whole mass of interlocking processes called life may be in­
volved in keeping our object in a state of change that can maintain some
necessary constants, such as body temperature, blood circulation , blood
sugar, or even life itself.
The acrobat on the high wire maintains his stability by continual
correction of his imbalance.
These more complex examples suggest that when we use stability
in talking about living things or self-corrective circuits, we should follow
the example of the entities about which we are talking. For the acrobat on the
high wire, his or her so-called "balance" is important; so, for the mam­
malian body, is its "temperature. " The changing state of these impor- :
tant variables from moment to moment is reported in the com- '
munication networks of the body. To follow the example of the entity, .
we should define "stability" always by reference to the ongoing truth of
some descriptive proposition. The statement "The acrobat is on the high
wire" continues to be true under impact of small breezes and vibrations ,
of the wire. This "stability" is the result of continual changes in descrip- ,
tions of the acrobat's posture and the position of his or her balancing '
It follows that when we talk about living entities, statementS .
about "stability" should always be labeled by reference to some descrip­
tive proposition so that the typing of the word, stable, may be clear. W
shall see later, especially in Chapter 4 , that every descriptive propositi on
is to be characterized according to logical typing of subject, predicate ,
and context.
Similarly, all statements about change require the same sort of
precision. Such profound saws as the French "Plus fa change, plus c'est Itt
meme chose" owe their wiseacre wisdom to a muddling of logical types.
What "changes" and what "stays the same" are both of them descriptive
propositions, but of different order .
Some comment on the list of presuppositions examined in this
chapter is called for . First of all , the list is in no sense complete , and
there is no suggesti on that such a thing as a complete list of verities or
general i ties could be prepared . Is it even a characteristic of the world in
wh ich we live that such a list should be finite?
In the preparation of this chapter , roughly another dozen can­
didates for inclusion were dropped , and a number of others were re­
moved from this chapter to become integrated parts of Chapters 3 , 4 ,
and 5 . However, even with its incompleteness, there are a number of
pos sible exercises that the reader might perform with the list .
First , when we have a list , the natural impulse of the scientist is
to start classifying or ordering its members. This I have partly done ,
breaking the list into four groups in which the members are l inked
together in various ways . It would be a nontrivial exercise to list the
ways in which such verities or presuppositi ons may be connected . The
grouping I have imposed is as follows:
A first cluster includes numbers 1 to 5 , which seem to be related
aspects of the necessary phenomenon of coding. Here , for example , the
proposition that "science never proves anything" is rather easily recog­
nized as a synonym for the distinction between map and territory; both
follow from the Ames experiments and the generalization of natural his­
tory that " there is no objective experience . "
It is interesting to note that on the abstract and philosophical
side, this group of generalizations has to depend very closely on some­
thing like Occam's razor or the rule of parsimony. Without some such
ultimate criterion, there is no ultimate way of choosing between one
hypothesis and another. The criterion found necessary is of simplicity
complexity. But along with these generalizations stands their con­
nection with neurophysiology, Ames experiments, and the l ike . One
wonders immediately whether the material on perception does not go
along with the more philosophical material because the process of per­
ception Contains something like an Occam's razor or a criterion of parsi­
mon y . The discussion of wholes and parts in number 5 is a spelling out
of a com
mon form of transformation that occurs in those processes we
Numbers 6, 7, and 8 form a second cluster, dealing with ques.
tIO ns of
the random and the ordered . The reader will observe that the
notion that the new can be plucked only out of the random is in almost
total contradiction to the inevitability of entropy . The whole matter of
entropy and negentropy (see Glossary) and the contrasts between the set
of generalities associated with these words and those associated with
energy will be dealt with i n Chapter 6 in the discussion of the economics
of flexibility. Here it is only necessary to note the i nteresting formal
analogy between the apparent contradiction in this cluster and the dis­
crimination drawn in the third cluster, in which number 9 contrasts
number with quantity. The sort of thinking that deals with quantity
resembles in many ways the thinking that surrounds the concept of
energy; whereas the concept of number is much more closely related to
the concepts of pattern and negentropy .
The central mystery of evolution lies , of course, in the contrast
between statements of the second law of thermodynamics and the obser­
vation that the new can only be plucked from the random . It was this
contrast that Darwin partly resolved by his theory of natural selection.
The other two clusters in the list as given are 9 to 12 and
13 to
16. I will leave it to the reader to construct his or her phrasings of how
these clusters are internally related and to create other clusters according
to his/her own ways of thought .
I n Chapter
3 I shall continue to sketch i n the background of my
thesis with a listing of generalities or presuppositions. I shall , however ,
come closer to the central problems of thought and evolution , trying to
In what ways can two or more items of informa­
tion or command work together or in opposition? This question with its mul­
give answers to the question:
tiple answers seems to me to be central to any theory of thought or
What I tell you three times is true.
-LEWIS CARROLL, The Hunting of the Snark
2 , "Every Schoolboy Knows . . . " has in­
troduced the reader to a number of basic ideas about the
world , elementary propositions or verities with which
every serious epistemology or epistemologist must make
In this chapter , I go on to generalizations that are somewhat
m ore complex i n that the question which I ask takes the immediate , ex­
oteric form : " What bonus or increment of knowing follows from
ing information from two or more sources ? "
The reader may take the present chapter and Chapter 5 "Mul­
tiple Versions of Relationship" as just two more items which the school­
boy should know. And in fact , in the writing of the book , the heading
"T wo descriptions are better than one" originally covered all this mate-
rial . But as the more or less experimental writing of the book went on
over about three years , this heading aggregated to itself a very consider­
able range of sections , and it became evident that the combination of '
diverse pieces of information defined an approach of very great power to '"
what I call (in Chapter 1) "the pattern which connects . " Particular facets '
of the great pattern were brought to my attention by particular ways in
which two or more pieces of information could be combined.
In the present chapter, I shall focus on those varieties of combi- "
nation which would seem to give the perceiving organism infurmation
about the world around itself or about itself as a part of that external
world (as when the creature sees its own toe) . I shall leave for Chapter 5 :
the more subtle and, indeed, more biological or creatural combinations
that would give the perceiver more knowledge of the internal relations
and processes called the
In every instance, the primary question I shall ask will concern
the bonus of understanding which the combination of i nformation af-
fords. The reader is, however , reminded that behind the simple, superfi-
cial question there is partly concealed the deeper and perhaps mystical
question , "Does the study of this particular case , i n which an i nsight de- ,
velops from the comparison of sources , throw any light on how the uni-, !
verse is integrated? " My method of procedure will be to ask about the
immediate bonus i n each case, but my ultimate goal is an inquiry into , '
the larger pattern which connects.
Of all these examples, the simplest but the most profound is
fact that it takes at least two somethings to create a difference .
produce news of difference, i . e . ,
information, there must be two
(real or imagined) such that the difference between them can be
manent i n their mutual relationship; and the whole affair must be
that news of their difference can be represented as a difference
some information-processing entity, such as a brain or , perhaps , a
There is a profound and unanswerable question about the
of those "at least two" thi ngs that between them generate the
which becomes information by making a difference. Clearly each
is-for the mind and perception-a non-entity, a non-being. Not dif­
feren t from being , and not different from non-being . An unknowable, a
Ding an sich, a sound of one hand clapping .
The stuff of sensation, then , is a pair of values of some variable ,
presented over a time to a sense organ whose response depends upon the
rat i o between the members of the pair. (This matter of the nature of dif­
fere nce will be discussed in detail in Chapter
4 , criterion 2 . )
Let us consider another simple and familiar case of double de­
scri ption . What is gained by comparing the data collected by one eye
with the data collected by the other? Typically , both eyes are aimed at
the same region of the surrounding univers e , and this might seem to be
a wasteful use of the sense organs. But the anatomy indicates that very
considerable advantage must accrue from this usage. The innervation of
the two retinas and the creation at the optic chiasma of pathways for the
redistribution of information is such an extraordinary feat of morphogen­
esis as must surely denote great evolutionary advantage .
In brief, each retinal surface is a nearly hemispherical cup into
which a lens focuses an inverted image of what is being seen. Thus , the
image of what is over to the left front will be focused onto the outer side
of the right retina and onto the inner side of the left retina. What is
surprising is that the innervation of each retina is divided into two sys­
tems by a sharp vertical boundary . Thus, the i nformation carried by
optic fibers from the outside of the right eye meets , in the right brai n ,
with the i nformation carried b y fibers from the i nner side o f the left eye.
Si milarly , i nformation from the outside of the left retina and the i nside
of the right retina is gathered in the left brain .
The bi nocular i mage, which appears t o b e undivided , i s in fact a
compl ex synthesis of information from the left front in the right brain
and a corresponding synthesis of material from the right front in the left
brain . Late r these two synthesized aggregates of information are them­
selves synthesized into a single subjective picture from which all traces
of the vert ical boundary have disappeared .
From this elaborate arrangement, two sorts of advantage accrue.
The seer is able to i mprove resolution at edges and contrasts; and better
Figure 4
able to read when the print is small or the illumination poor. More im­
portant , i nformation about depth is created. In more formal language,
difference between the i nformation provided by the one retina and
that provided by the other is itself information of a different logical type.
From this new sort of information , the seer adds an extra dimension to
In Figure 4, let
A represent the class or set of components of the
aggregate of information obtained from some first source (e .g . , the right
B represent the class of components of the information ob­
tained from some second source (e. g. , the left eye) . Then AB will repre­
eye) , and let
sent the class of components referred to by information from both eyes.
AB must either contain members or be empty.
If there exist real members of AB, then the information from the
second source has imposed a subclassification upon A that was previously
impossible (i . e . , has provided , in combination with A , a logical type of
information of which the first source alone was i ncapable).
We now proceed with the search for other cases under this gen­
eral rubric and shall specifically look in each case for the genesis of infor­
mation of new logical type out of the juxtaposing of multiple descrip­
tions. In principle, extra "depth" in some metaphoric sense is to be
expected whenever the i nformation for the two descriptions is differently
collected or differently coded.
Human sense organs can receive only news of difference, and the
differences must be coded into events in
time (i . e . , into changes) in order
to be percepti ble. Ordinary static differences that remain constant for
more than a few seconds become perceptible only by scanning . Simi-
" 1 f 1'l.lT'\
.4. lIro.Tr\ 1\.T ATT TR F
larly, very slow changes become perceptible only by a combination of
and bringing together observations from separated moments in
the continuum of time.
An elegant (i . e . , an economical) example of these principles is
provided by the device used by Clyde William Tombaugh , who in
1 9 30, while still a graduate student, discovered the planet Pluto.
From calculations based on disturbances in the orbit of Neptune
it seemed that these irregularities could be explained by gravitational
pull from some planet in an orbit outside the orbit of Neptune. The
calculations indicated i n what region of the sky the new planet could be
expected at a given time .
The object to be looked for would certai nly be very small and
dim (about 1 5 th magnitude) , and its appearance would differ from that
of other objects in the sky only in the fact of very slow movement , so
slow as to be quite imperceptible to the human eye.
This problem was solved by the use of an instrument which as­
tronomers call a
blinker. Photographs of the appropriate region of the sky
were taken at longish i ntervals . These photographs were then studied in
pairs in the blinker. This instrument is the converse of a binocular mi­
croscope; i nstead of two eyepieces and one stage, it has one eyepiece and
two stages and is so arranged that by the flick of a lever, what is seen at
one moment on one stage can be replaced by a view of the other stage .
Two photographs are placed in exact register on the two stages so that
all the ordi nary fixed stars precisely coincide. Then, when the lever is
flicked over, the fixed stars will not appear to move , but a planet will
appear to jump from one position to another. There were , however,
many jumping objects (asteroids) in the field of the photographs , and
Tombaugh had to find one that jumped
less than the others .
After hundreds of such comparisons,
Tombaugh saw Pluto
Jump .
Synaptic summation is the technical term used in neurophysiology
for those i nstances in which some neuron C is fired only by a combina­
tion of neurons A and B . A alone is insufficient to fire C, and B alone is
insufficient to fire C; but i f neurons A and B fire together within a l im71
Figure 5
ited period of microseconds , then C is triggered (see Figure 5 ) . Notice
that the conventional term for this phenomeno n ,
suggest an
summation, would
adding of information from one source ro information from
another. What actually happens is not an adding but a forming of a log­
ical product , a process more closely akin to multiplication.
What this arrangement does to the information that neuron A
alone could give is a segmentation or subclassi fic ation of the firings of A
into two classes, namely , those firings of A accompanied by B and those
firings of A which are not accompanied by B. Correspondingly , the fir­
ings of neuron B are subdivided into two classes , those accompanied by
A and those not accompanied by A .
Macbeth is about to murder Duncan , and in horror at his deed,
he hallucinates a dagger (Act I I , scene 1).
Is this a dagger which I see before me.
The handle tOll'tlrd my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee stil/,
A rt thou not, latal vision, sensible
To leeling as to sight?
art thou but
A dagger 01 the mind. a lalJe creation.
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet. in lorm as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the u'ay that I was going;
A nd such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools
the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes.
This literary example will serve for all those cases of double
des cription in which data from two or more different senses are com­
bined . Macbeth "proves" that the dagger is only an hallucination by
che cking with his sense of touch , but even that is not enough . Perhaps
his eyes are "worth all the rest . " It is only when "gouts of blood" appear
on the hallucinated dagger that he can dismiss the whole matter:
"There's no such thing . "
Comparison of information from one sense with i nformation
from another, combined with change in the hallucination, has offered
Macbeth the metainformation that his experience was imagi nary . I n
terms o f Figure
4 , AB was a n empty set .
In many cases , an increment of i nsight is provided by a second
language of description without the addition of any extra so-called objec­
tive i nformation. Two proofs of a given mathematical theorem may com­
bine to give the student an extra grasp of the relation which is being
demonstrated .
Every schoolboy knows that
(a + b)2 = a2 + 2db + b2, and he may
be aware that this algebraic equation is a first step in a massive branch of
mathematics called
binomial theory. The equation itself is sufficiently
demonstrated by the algorithm of algebraic multiplication , each step of
which is in accord with the definitions and postulates of the tautology
algebra-that tautology whose subject matter is the expansIOn
and analysis of the notion "any . "
But many schoolboys do not know that there IS a geometric
X �--.-----, y
Figure 6
demonstration of the same binomial expansion (see Figure 6) . Consider
X Y, and let this line be composed of two segments , a
b. The line is now a geometric representation of (a + b) and the
square constructed upon X Y will be (a + b)2; that is, it will have an area
called "(a + b)2. "
the straight line
This square can now be dissected by marking off the length
along the line
X Y and along one of the adjacent sides of the square and
completing the figure by drawing the appropriate l ines parallel to the
sides of the square. The schoolboy can now think that he sees that the
square is cut up into four pieces . There are two squares , one of which is
a2 while the other is b2, and two rectangles , each of which is of area
(a X b ) (i . e. , 'lab) .
Thus , the familiar algebraic equation (a + b)2 a 2 + 'lab + b2 also
seems to be true in Euclidean geometry. But surely it was too much to
hope for that the separate pieces of the quantity a2
be neatly separate in the geometric translation .
+ 'lab + b2 would still
But what has been said? B y what right did we substitute a so­
called " length" for
a and another for b and assume that , placed end to
(a + b) and so on? Are we Jure that
end , they would make a straight l i ne
the lengths of lines obey arithmetic rules? What has the schoolboy
learned from our stating the same old equation in a new language?
In a certain sense,
nothing has been added . No new information ,
(a + b)2 = a 2 + 'lab + b2 i n geometry as well as in algebra .
Does a language, then , as such , contain no information?
But even if, mathematically, nothing has been added by the
litt le mathematical conjuring trick, I still believe that the schoolboy
wh o has never seen that the trick could be played will have a chance to
learn something when the trick is shown . There is a contribution to
didactic method . The discovery (if it be discovery) that the twO lan­
guages (of algebra and of geometry) are mutually translatable is itself an
Another mathematical example may help the reader to assimilate
of using two languages. '*'
Ask your friends , "What i s the sum of the first ten odd numbers? "
The answers will probably be statements of ignorance
or attempts to add up the series:
1 + 3 + 5 + 7 + 9 + 1 1 + 13 + 1 5 + 17 + 1 9 .
Show them that:
of the
of the
of the
of the
of the
odd number is 1 .
two odd numbers is 4 .
three odd numbers is 9.
four odd numbers is 1 6 .
five odd numbers i s 2 5 .
And so on.
Rather soon , your friends will say something like, "Oh , then the
su m of the first ten odd numbers must be 100. " They have learned the
trick for adding series of odd numbers .
But ask for an explanation of why this trick must work and the
average nonmathematician will be unable to answer. (And the state of
elementary education is such that many will have no idea of how to
proceed in order to create an answer . )
What has to b e discovered i s the difference between the ordinal
name of the given odd number and its cardinal value--a difference in
logical type! We are accustomed to expect that the name of a numeral
indebted to Gertrude Hendrix for this, to most people, unfamiliar regularity: Gertrude
Hendrix, "Learning by Discovery," The Mathematics Teacher 54 (May 196 1 ) : 290-299.
• J am
will be the same
its numerical value . >I« But indeed , in this case , the
name is not the same as the thing named .
The sum of the first three odd numbers is 9. That is, the sum is
square of the ordinal name (and in this case , the ordinal name of 5 is
" 3 " ) of the largest number in the series to be summed. Or-if you
like-it is the square of the
number of numbers in the series to be
summed . This is the verbal statement of the trick.
To prove that the trick will work , we have to show that the dif­
ference between two consecutive summations of odd numbers is equal
always equal to the difference between the squares of their ordinal
For example, the sum of the first five odd numbers minus the
sum of first four odd numbers must equal 5 2 42 . At the same time,
we must notice that , of course , the difference between the two sums is
indeed the odd number that was last added to the stack. In othe/words,
this last added number must be equal to the difference between the
Consider the same matter in a visual language. We have to dem­
onstrate that the
next odd number will always add to the sum of the
previous odd numbers just enough to make the next total equal the
square of the ordinal name of that odd number.
Represent the first odd number
( 1) with a unit square:
Represent the second odd number (3) with three unit squares:
Add the two figures together:
• Alternatively. we may say that the number of numbers in a set is not the same as the sum of
numbers in rhe same set . One way or the other. we encounter a discontinuity in logical typing.
Represent the third odd number
(5) with five unit squares:
Add this to the previous figure:
Figure 7
That is , 4 +
And s o on . The visual presentation makes i t rather easy t o combine or­
dinals , cardinals, and the regularities of summing the series.
What has happened is that the use of a system of geometric met­
aphor has enormously facilitated understanding of
how the mechanical
trick comes to be a rule or regularity. More important , the student has
been made aware of the contrast between applying a trick and under­
standing the necessity of truth behind the trick. And still more impor­
tant, the student has , perhaps unwittingly, had the experience of the
leap from talking arithmetic to talking
about arithmetic . Not numbers
numbers of numbers.
I t was then, in Wallace Stevens's words ,
That the grapes seemed Jatter.
The fox ran out oj his hole.
Von Neumann once remarked , partly in jest , that for self­
rep lication among machines, it would be a necessary condition that two
machines should act in collaboration.
Fission with replication is certainly a basic requirement of life ,
wh ether it b e for multiplication or for growth, and the biochemists now
know broadly the processes of replication of DNA . But next comes dif­
ferentiation, whether it be the (surely) random generation of variety i n
evolution o r the ordered differentiation o f embryology. Fission , seem­
ingly ,
mllst be punctuated by fusio n , a general truth which exemplifies
the principle of information processing we are considering here: namely
that two sources of information (often
contrasting modes or lan­
guages) are enormously better than one.
At the bacterial level and even among protozoa and some fungi
and algae , the gametes remain superficially identical; but in all metazoa
and plants above the fungal level , the
sexes of the gametes are distin­
guishable one from the other.
The binary differentiation of gametes , usually one sessile and one
mobile, comes first. Following this comes the differentiation into two
kinds of the multicellular individuals who are the producers of the two
kinds of gametes.
Finally, there are the more complex cycles called
alternation of
generations in many plants and animal parasites .
All these orders of differentiation are surely related to the i nfor­
mational economics of fis sion , fusi on , and sexual dimorphism .
So , returning to the most primitive fission and fusion , we note
that the first effect or contribution of fusion to t he economics of genetic
information is presumably some sort of checking.
The process of chromosomal fusion is essentially the same in all
planes and an imals, and wherever it occurs , the corresponding strings of
DNA material are set side by side and, in a functional sense , are com­
pared. If differences between the strings of material from the respective
gametes are too great , fertilization (so called) cannot occur . ;;
I n the total process of evolution, fusion, which i s the central fact
of sex , has the function of limiting genetic variability. Gametes that , for
whatever reason, be it mutation or other , are too different from the sta­
tistical norm are likely to meet in sexual fusion with more normal
gametes of opposite sex, and in this meeti ng , the extremes of deviation
• I believe that this was first argued by C. P. Martin in his Psychology, Evolution and Sex, 1956. Sam­
uel Buder (in More Notebooks of Sa1l1Jiei Butler, edited by Festing Jones) makes a similar poi:1t in dis­
cussing parthenogenesis. He argues that as dreams are to thought, so parthenogenesis is to sexual
reproduction. Thought is stabilized and tested against the template of external real ity, but dreams
run loose. Similarly, parthenogenesis can be expected to run loose; whereas zygote formation is
stabilized by the mutual comparison of gametes.
will be eliminated. (Note , in passing , that this need to eliminate devia­
tion is likely to be imperfectly met in "incestuous" mating between ga­
metes from closely related sources . )
But although one important function of the fusion of gametes in
sexual reproduction would seem to be the limitation of deviance , it i s
also necessary t o stress the contrary function: increasing phenotypic
variety. The fusion of random pairs of gametes assures that the gene pool
of the participating population will be homogeneous in the sense of
being well mixed . At the same time , it assures that every viable genic
combination within that pool shall be created . That is , every viable gene
is tested in conjunction with as many other constellations of other genes
as is possible within the limits of the participating population .
As usual in the panorama of evolution , we find that the single
process is Janus-l ike , facing in two directions. In the present case , the
fusion of gametes both p laces a limitation on individual deviance and en­
sures the multiple recombination of genetic material .
Interesting phenomena occur when two or more rhythmic pat­
terns are combined , and these phenomena illustrate very aptly the en­
richment of information that occurs when one description is combined
with another. I n the case of rhythmic patterns, the combination of two
such patterns will generate a thi rd. Therefore, it becomes possible to in­
vestigate an unfamiliar pattern by combining it with a known second
pattern and inspecting the third pattern which they together generate.
The simplest case of what I am calling the moire phenomenon is the
well-known production of beats when twO sounds of different frequency
are combined . The phenomenon is explained by mapping onto simple
ari thme tic, according to the rule that if one note produces a peak in
n time units and the other has a peak i n every m time units, then
the combination will produce a beat in every m X n units when the peaks
coin cide . The combination has obvious uses in piano tuning. Similarly ,
it is possible to combine two sounds of very high frequency in order to
produce beats of frequency low enough to be heard by the human ear .
Sonar devices that operate on this principle are now avai lable for the
bl i nd . A beam of high-frequency sound is emitted , and the echoes that
this beam generates are received back into an "ear" in which a lower but
still inaudible frequency is being generated. The resulting beats are the n
passed on to the human ear.
The m<!tter becomes more complex when the rhythmic patterns ,
instead of being limited,
frequency is, to the single dimension of
time, exist in twO or more dimensions. In such cases , the result of com­
bining the twO patterns may be surprising.
Three principles are illustrated by these moire phenomena : First ,
any two patterns may, if appropriately combined , generate a third . Sec­
ond , any two of these three patterns could serve
base for a description
of the third . Third , the whole problem of defining what is meant by the
pattern can be approached through these phenomena. Do we , in
fact , carry around with us (like the blind person's sonar) samples of
various sOrts of regularity against which we can try the information
(news of regular differences) that comes in from outside? Do we , for ex­
ample, use our habits of what is called "dependency" to test the chatac­
teristics of other persons?
Do animals (and even plants) have characteristics such that in a
given niche there is a testing of that niche by something like the moire
Other questions arise regarding the nature of aesthetic experience.
Poetry, dance, music , and other rhythmic phenomena are certainly very
archaic and probably more ancient than prose. It is , moreover , character­
istic of the archaic behaviors and perceptions that rhythm is continually
modulated; that is, the poetry or music contains materials that could be
processed by
superposing comparison by any receiving organism with a few
seconds of memory .
Is it possible that this worldwide artistic , poetical , and musical
phenomenon is somehow related to moire? If so, then the individual
mind is surely deeply organized in ways which a consideration of moire
phenomena will help us to understand . In terms of the definition of "ex­
planation" proposed in section
9 , we shall say that the formal mathemat­
ics or "logic" of moire may provide an appropriate tautology onto which
these aesthetic phenomena could be mapped.
Among human beings , description and explanation are both
hi ghly valued , but this example of doubled information differs from
most of the other cases offered in this chapter in that explanation con­
tains no new i nformation different from what was present in the descrip­
tion . Indeed , a great deal of the i nformation that was present in descrip­
tion is commonly thrown away, and only a rather small part of what was
to be explained is, in fact , explai ned . But explanation is certainly of
enormous importance and certainly
seems to give a bonus of insight over
and above what was contained in description. Is the bonus of insight
which explanation gives somehow related to what we got from combin­
ing two languages in section
6, above ?
To examine this case, it is necessary first briefly to i ndicate defi­
nitions for the three words :
description, tautology, and explanation .
A pure description would include all the facts (i . e . , all the effec­
tive differences) immanent in the phenomena to be described but would
indicate no kind of connection among these phenomena that might
make them more understandable. For example, a film with sound and
perhaps recordings of smell and other sense data might constitute a
complete or sufficient description of what happened in front of a battery
of cameras at a certain time. But that film will do l ittle to connect the
events shown on the screen one with another and will not by itself fur­
nish any explanation . On the other hand , an explanation can be total
without being descriptive. "God made everything there is" is totally ex­
planatory but does not tell you anything about any of the things or their
In science, these two types of organization of data (description
and explanation) are connected by what is technically called tautology.
Examples of tautology range from the simplest case, the assertion that
"If P is true, then P is true , " to such elaborate struct�res as the geome­
try of Euclid , where "If the axioms and postulates are true, then Py­
thagoras' theorem is true . " Another example would be the axioms, defi­
n itions , postulates , and theorems of Von Neumann's Theory of Games. In
Such an aggregate of postulates and axioms and theorems , i t is of course
not claimed that any of the axioms or theorems is in any sense "true" i n­
dependently or true in the outside world .
Indeed , Von Neumann, in his famous book , * expressly points
out the differences between his tautological world and the more complex
world of human relations . All that is claimed is that if the axioms be
such and such and the postulates such and such , then the theorems will
be so and so. In other words , all that the tautology affords is connections
between propositions. The creator of the tautology stakes his reputation on
the validity of these connections .
Tautology contains no information whatsoever , and explanation
(the mapping of description onto tautology) contains only the informa­
tion that was present in the description. The "mapping" asserts implic­
itly that the links which hold the tautology together correspond to rela­
tions which obtain in the description . Description, on the other hand ,
contains information but no logic and no explanation. For some reason ,
human beings enormously value this combining of ways of organizing
information or material .
To illustrate how description, tautolog y , and explanation fit
together, let me cite an assignment which I have given several times to
classes. I am indebted to the astronomer Jeff Scargle for this problem ,
but I am responsible for the solution. The problem is:
A man is shavi ng with his razor in his right hand . He looks into his
mirror and in the mirror sees his image shaving with its left hand . He
says , "Oh. There's been a reversal of right and left. Why is there no
reversal of top and bottom ' "
The problem was presented t o the students in this form , and
they were asked to unravel the muddle in which the man evidently is
and to discuss the nature of explanation after they have accomplished
thi s .
There are a t least two twists in the problem as set . One gimmick
distracts the student to focus on right and left . I n fact , what has been
reversed is front and back , not right and left . But there is a more subtle
trouble behind that, namely , that the words
• Von Neuman n , J . , and Morgenstern,
Princeton University Press,
right and left are not in the
0. , The Theory of Games and Economic Behavior (Princeton:
same language as the words top and bottom. Right and left are words of an
inne r language; whereas top and bottom are parts of an external language .
If the man is looking south and his image is looking nort h , the top is
upward in himself and it is upward in his image. His east side is on the
east side in the image , and his west side is on the west side in the
East and west are in the same language as top and bottom; whereas
right and left are in a different language . There is thus a logical trap in
the problem as set.
h is necessary to understand that
right and left cannot be defined
and that you will meet with a lot of trouble if you t ry to define such
words. If you go to the
Oxford English Dictionary, you will find that left is
defined as "distinctive epithet of the hand which is normally the weaker . "
The dictionary maker openly shows his embarrassment. I f you go to
Webster , you will find a more useful d efinition , but the author cheats .
One of the rules of writing a dictionary is that you may not rely on os­
tensive communication for your main definition. So the problem is to
define left without pointing to an asymmetrical object . Webster
( 1959)
says, " that side of one's body which is toward the west when one faces
north , usually the side of the less-used hand . " This is using the asym­
metry of the spinning earth.
metry is easy to define, but there are no verbal means-and there can be
In truth , the definition cannot be done without cheating .
none-for indicating which of two (mirror-image) halves is intended .
An explanation has to provide something more than a descrip­
tion provides and , in the end , an explanation appeals to a
which , as I have defined it, is a body of propositions so linked together
that the links
between the propositions are necessarily valid .
The simplest tautology is "If P is true , then P is true . "
A more complex tautology would be "If Q follows from P , then
follows from P . " From there, you can build up into whatever com­
plexity you like. But you are still within the domain of the
if clause
provided , not by data, but by you. That is a tautology.
Now , an explanation is a mapping of the pieces of a description
onto a tautology, and an explanation becomes acceptable to the degree
that you are willing and able to accept the links of the tautology. If the
links are "self-evident" (i . e . , if they seem undoubtable to the self that is
you) , then the explanation built on that tautology is satisfactory to you.
That is all . I t is always a matter of natural history, a matter of the faith ,
imagination, trust , rigidity, and so on of the organism, that is of you or
Let us consider what sort of tautology will serve as a foundation
for our description of mirror images and their asymmetry.
Your right hand is an asymmetrical , three-dimensional object;
and to define i t , you require information that will link at least three
polarities. To make it different from a left hand , three binary descriptive
clauses must be fixed . Direction toward the palm must be distinguished
from direction toward the back of the hand; direction toward the elbow
must be distinguished from direction toward the fingertips; direction
toward the thumb must be distinguished from direction toward the fifth
finger. Now build the tautology to assert that a reversal of any one of
these three binary descriptive propositions will create the mirror image
(the stereo-opposite) of the hand from which we started (i . e . , will create
a "left" hand).
If you place your hands palm to palm so that the right palm
faces north , the left will face south , and you will get a case similar to
that of the man shaving.
Now , the central postulate of our tautology is that
reversal in one
dimension always generates the stereo-opposite. From this postulate , it fol­
lows--can you doubt it?-that reversal in two dimensions will generate
the opposite of the opposite (i. e. , will take us back to the form from
which we started). Reversal in three dimensions will again generate the
stereo-opposite. And so on.
We now flesh out our explanation by the process which the
American logician ,
C. S . Peirce called abduction, that is, by finding
other relevant phenomena and arguing that these , too, are cases under
our rule and can be mapped onto the same tautology.
Imagine that you are an old-fashioned photographer with a black
cloth over your head . You look into your camera at the ground-glass
screen on which you see the face of the man whose portrait you are mak­
ing . The lens is between the ground-glass screen and the subject. On the
screen , you will see the image upside down and right for left but still
facing you . If the subject is holding something in his right hand , he will .I
s till be holding it in his right hanc un the s..;.;:: reen but rotated
1 80
degrees .
If now you make a hole in the r�nt of th e camera and look in at
the image formed on the ground-glass creen o r <:m the fil m , the top of
his head will be at the bottom. His ch:r will be a.t the top. His left will
be over to the right side,
and now e is fac i ng himself. You have
reversed three dimensions . So now you ee again h i s stereo-opposite.
Explanation, then, consists in adding a
cautology, ensuring as
best you can the validity of the links ir h e tautol ogy so that it seems to
you to be self-evident, which is in tt end ne-ver totally satisfacrory
because nobody knows what will be di ..overed la�er.
If explanation is as I have descried i t , we may well wonder what
bonus human beings get from achievi n: such a Cl.Jmbersome and indeed
seemingly unprofitable rigamarole. Thi is a ques c i on of natural history,
and I believe that the problem is at lea! partly solved when we observe
that human beings are very careless in heir cons "l:ruction of the tautol­
ogies on which to base their explanatiot;,. In such
case , one would sup­
pose that the bonus would be negati v: but thi s seems not to be so,
judging by the popularity of explanaricn, which are so informal as to be
misleading . A common form of empty ·cp lanatiorl i s the appeal to what
I have called "dormitive principles , " bcrowing the word
dormitive from
Moliere. There is a coda in dog Latin t Moliere's Le Malade Imaginaire,
and in this coda , we see on the stage a n edieval oral doctoral examina­
tion . The examiners ask the candidate ·ny opiuIT:l putS people to sleep.
The candidate triumphantly answers , "J�cause , l earned doctors , it con­
tains a dormitive principle. "
We can imagine the candidate ,�ending the rest of his life frac­
tionating opium in a biochemistry la� lOd successively identifying in
which fraction the so-called dormitive rLOciple ree Jllained .
A better answer to the doctors' uestion � 'ould involve, not the
opium alone , but a relati onship betwee the opiu JD and the people. I n
oth er words, the dormitive explanation ::tually fal.s i fies the true facts o f
the Case but what is, I believe, importa; i s that c ormitive explanations
permit abduction. Having enunciate. a general i ty that opium con­
tai ns a dormitive principle, it is then p,sible to use this type of phras­
ing for a very large number of other p::' nomena
We can say, for ex_
ample, that adrenalin contains an enlivening principle and reserpine a
tranquilizing principle. This will give us , albeit inaccurately and epis­
temologically unacceptably , handles with which to grab at a very large
number of phenomena that appear to be formally comparable. And , in­
deed, they are formally comparable to this extent , that invoking a prin­
inside one component is in fact the error that is made in every one of
these cases.
The fact remains that as a matter of natural history-and we are
as interested in natural history as we are in strict epistemology-abduc­
tion is a great comfort to people, and formal explanation is often a bore.
"Man thinks in twO kinds of terms: one , the natural terms , shared with
beasts ; the other, the conventional terms (the logicals) enjoyed by man
alone . " '*'
This chapter has examined various ways in which the combining
of information of different sorts or from different sources results in some­
thing more than addition. The aggregate is greater than the sum of its
parts because the combining of the parts is not a simple adding but is
of the nature of a multiplication or a fractionation, or the creation of a
logical product . A momentary gleam of enlightenment .
So to complete this chapter and before attempting even a listing
of the criteria of mental process, it is appropriate to look briefly at this
sttucture in a much more personal and more universal way .
I have consistently held my language to an " intellectual" or "ob­
j ective" mode, and this mode is convenient for many purposes (only to
be avoided when used to avoid recognition of the observer's bias and
stance) .
To put away the quasi objective, at least in part , is not diffic ult,
and such a change in mode is proposed by such questions as: What is
this book about ? What is its personal meaning to me? What am I trying
to say or to discover?
The question " What am I trying to discover? " is not as unan­
swerable as mystics would have us believe. From the manner of the
search , we can read what sort of discovery the searcher may thereby
. Wi l liam of Ockham, 1 280- 1 349, quoted by Warren McCulloch in his
M . l . T . Press, 1965 .
0/ Mind,
reach; and knowing this , we may suspect that such a discovery is what
the searcher secretly and unconsciously desires .
This chapter has defined and exemplified a
manner of search, and
therefore this is the moment to raise twO questions: For what am I
searching? To what questions have fifty years of science led me?
The manner of the search is plain to me and might be called the
method of double
multiple comparison.
Consider the case of binocular vision. I compared what could be
seen with one eye with what could be seen with two eyes and noted that
in this comparison the two-eyed method of seeing disclosed an extra
dimension called
depth. But the two-eyed way of seeing is itself an act of
comparison. In other words , the chapter has been a series of comparative
studies of the comparative method . The section on b inocular vision (sec­
2) was such a comparative study of one method of comparison, and
3) was another comparative study
the section on catching Pluto (section
of the comparative method . Thus the whole chapter, in which such in­
stances are placed side by side , became a display inviting the reader to
achieve i nsight by comparing the i nstances one with another.
Finally , all that comparing of comparisons was built up to pre­
pare author and reader for thought about problems of Natural Mind.
There , too, we shall encounter creative comparison. I t is the Platonic
thesis of the book that epistemology is an indivisible, integrated meta­
science whose subject matter is the world of evolution, thought , adapta­
tion , embryology , and genetics-the science of mind in the widest sense
of the word . *
The comparing of these phenomena (comparing thought with
ev olution and epigenesis with both) is the
manner of search of the science
called "epistemology . "
Or , i n the phrasing of this chapter , we may say that epis­
temology is the bonus from combining insights from all these separate
genetic sciences.
But epistemology is always and inevitably personal. The point of
- The reader will perhaps notice that consciousness is missing from this list. I prefer to use that
word , not as a general term, bur spec ifically for that strange experience whereby we (and perhaps
other mammals) are sometimes conscious of the products of our perception and thought but uncon­
scious of rhe greater part of the processes.
the probe is always in the heart of the explorer: What is
my answer to
the question of the nature of knowing? I surrender to the belief that my
knowing is a small part of a wider integrated knowing that knits the en­
tire biosphere or creation.
Cogito, ergo sum .
-DESCARTES, Discourse on Method
This chapter is an attempt to make a list of criteria such
that if any aggregate of phenomena, any system , satis­
fies all the criteria listed , I shall unhesitatingly say that
the aggregate is a
mind and shall expect that , if I am to
understand that aggregate , I shall need sorts of explana­
ti on different from those which would suffice to explain the character­
Istics of its smaller parts .
This list i s the cornerstone of the whole book. No doubt other
criteria could be adduced and might perhaps replace or alter the list of­
fered here. Perhaps out of G . Spencer-Brown's LaU's of Form or out of
Rene Thorn's
catastrophe theory, deep restructuring of the foundations of
mathematics and epistemology may come. This book must stand or fall ,
nOt by the particular content of my list , but by the validity of the idea
that some such structuring of epistemology, evolution, and epigenesis is
possible. I propose that the m i nd-body problem is soluble along lines
similar to those here outlined .
The criteria of mind t h a t seem to me to work together to supply
this soluti on are here listed to give the reader a preliminary survey of
what is proposed.
1 . A mind is an aggregate of interacting parts or components.
2 . The interaction between parts of mind is triggered by difference,
difference is a nonsubstantial phenomenon not located in space or time;
difference is related to negentropy and entropy rather than to energy.
3 . Mental process requires collateral energy.
4 . Mental process requires circular (or more complex) chains of determi-
5 . In mental process, the effects of difference are to be regarded as trans­
forms (i. e. , coded versions) of events which preceded them. The rules of such ,.
transformation must be comparatively stable ( i .e . , more stable than the .
content) but are themselves sub j ect to transformation.
6. The description and classification of these processes of transformation ·
disclose a hierarchy of logical types immanent in the phenomena.
I shall argue that the phenomena which we call
thought, evolution, :
ecology, life, learning, and the l i ke occur only in systems that sati sfy
I have already presented two considerable batches of
i llustrat i ng the nature of mental process. In Chapter
2, the reader
given almost didactic advice about how to think; and in Chapter
or she was given clues to how thoughts come together. This
beginni ng of a study of how to thin k about thinking .
We now go to use these criteria to differentiate
mena of thought from the much simpler phenomena called
In many cases , some parts of such an aggregate may �h.,tYI"plve5
satisfY all the criteria , and i n this case they, too, are to be regarded
minds or subminds. Always , however , there is a lower level of division
su ch that the resulting parts , when considered separately, lack the com­
plexity necessary to achieve the criteria of mind .
In a word , I do not believe that single subatomic particles are
" minds" in my sense because I do believe that mental process is always a
sequence of interactions
between parts. The explanation of mental pheno­
mena must always reside in the organization and interaction of multiple
To many readers , it will seem unnecessary to insist upon this
first criterion. But the matter is important , if only to mention and dis­
card the contrary opinions; it is even more i mportant to state the reasons
for my intolerance . Several respected thinkers , especially Samuel Butler,
to whom I have owed much pleasure and insigh t , and , more recently,
Teilhard de Chardin , have proposed theories of evolution which assume
some mental striving to be characteristic of the smallest atomies.
As I see i t , these hypotheses i ntroduce the supernatural by the
back door. To accept this notion is, for me , a sort of surrender. It is say­
ing that there are in the universe complexities of action which are
inexplicable because they exist independent of any supporting complex­
ity in which they could be supposed to be i mmanent. Without differen­
tiation of parts , there can be no differentiati on of events or functioning.
If the atomies are not themselves internally d ifferentiated in their indi­
vidual anatomy , then the appearance of complex process can only be due
to interaction between atomies.
Or if the atomies are internally differentiated, then they are by
my definition not atomies , and I shall expect to find still simpler entities
that will be devoid of mental functioning.
Finally-but only as the last resort-if de Chardin and Butler
are right in supposing that the atomies have no internal differentiation
and still are endowed with mental characteristics , then all explanation is
impossible, and we , as scientists, should close shop and go fis hing .
The whole o f the present book will b e based o n the premise that
mental function is immanent in the i nteraction of differentiated "parts . "
"Wholes" are constituted by such combined interaction .
In this matter , I prefer to follow Lamarck, who , in setting up
post ulates for a science of comparative psychology , laid down the rule
that no mental function shall be ascribed to an organism for which
the complexity of the nervous system of the organism is insufficient. '*
In other words , the theory of mind presented here is holistic
and , like all serious holism , is premised upon the differentiation and in­
teraction of parts .
There are , of course , many systems which are made of many
parts , ranging from galaxies to sand dunes to toy locomotives. Far be it
from me to suggest that all of these are minds or contain minds or
engage i n mental process . The toy locomotive may become a pare in that
mental system which includes the child who plays with i t , and the
galaxy may become part of the mental system which includes the as­
tronomer and his telescope. But the objects do not become thinking
subsystems in those larger minds. The criteria are useful only in combi­
We proceed now to consider the nature of the relationships be­
tween parts . How do parts interact to create mental process?
Here we meet with a very marked difference between the way in
which we describe the ordinary material universe (Jung's pleroma) and
the way in whi ch we are forced to describe mind . The contrast lies in
this: that , for the material universe, we shall commonly be able to say
that the "cause" of an event is some force or impact exerted upon some
part of the material system by some one other part. One part acts upon
another part . In contrast , in the world of ideas , it takes a relationship, ei­
ther between two parts or between a part at time 1 and the same part at
2 , to activate some third component which we may call the receiver.
• Philosophie Zo% giq1l' ( 1 809), first edition, especially Part III, Chapter
here reproduced and a translation follows:
l . Lamarck's tirle page is
Zoological Philosophy or Exposition of Considerations relat ive ro the natural hisrory of Animals,
the diversiry of their [internal) organization and of the [mental) faculties which they get from that
[organization); and relative ro the physical causes which maintain life in them and give space ro the
movements which they execute; and finally, relative to those [physical causes) which produce, some
of them the perception and others the intelligence of those [animals) which are endowed with those
telligence . " (The translation of the French words , sentiment and intelligence, is difficulr. As I read it,
sentiment is close to what English speaking psychologists would call "perception," and intelligence is
The reader will note that even on his tirle page Limarck is careful ro insist upon an
and articulate statement of relations between "physical cause , " "organizati on , " "sentiment" a nd
close to what we would call " intellect . ")
Des Con$ide:tationsrelatives a ttllistoire ,natareUe
·· .$ .A�ll'll.apx ra J.; diversite de lellrorganuat,�o�;
. . het
de$ ,�cll1tes qll':ilS: lin) obtieDnent ; au� causes ..
physiques qui mabittiennent ell eux la vie et
donnel1t .1i,eu. aux moqvetpen� qq'ils extfc��nt ;
.n6 . � a, celles qui l'rotluisellt� les unes l� s.nti:- ,.
p]ent ;) et te� �l1tre$l'intelligence de ceu:r; Cllli el1.
, . .
sont d(ju�s ; ·
. .
. ..'� ' , , " ..
� •
' ,
.IU' �� �Qlosie a' M1t�d� d·Hi$10i��at1it��I�� Melllbft de · ·
. . ., l'IDstllllt de �.abee et de 1. Legion (l'lIoDnc�; de 1. $Qciqti P�i�
Iomati'l1te, Je:Parill , de celle d., NIUt1r:tlis�i!$ .tk M�)$cou . )tembr.
de l�lftie R�.yltle 4es &¢i.ilcf! de:.Muni¢h,. tle
III Societil de.. Amis �. la. �atll1'e .dc �erlifl . de J.a .societt[Mil'dical�
hm..hl�i04 de B6tdea'ux, de . cdk d'Agi:icilltufej SCiCllC;$ efAl'u
. SU;l"iOiIig;", dl �I� .·"�eidtuJ'c llu· dil'paftelllent llel'Oise' •
. de: ��ll� lf'Asrjcuirllre dl :tYOI1 , A"ocic Ub,. de Ia. Sodllte de.
Pari. , etc. . .
. ·
,TO HB PllE M:IE ll.
A F A R I S ..
•. �llEM.U;I.ibra ire, ruftdQ,
. . ... •. . .
z. L.A.VTE
. . �lR, au Muacum d'Hislvire Naturetle (J�rdin
. des Plantes
Po#t de L>di, NO. 3 ; . ·
What the receiver (e. g . , a sensory end organ) responds to is a difference or
In Jung's pleroma , there are no differences, no distinctions. I t is
that nonmental realm of description where
difference between two parts
need never be evoked to explain the response of a third .
It is surprising to find how rare are cases in the nonorganic world
in which some A responds to a
difference between some B and some C.
The best example I can think o f is the case o f a n automobile traveling
over a bump i n the road . This i nstance comes close, at least , to meeting
our verbal definition of what happens in processes of perception by
mind . External to the automobile there are the two components of a dif­
ference: the level of the road and the level of the top of the bump. The
car approaches these with its own energy of motion and jumps into the
air under impact of the difference, using its own energy for this re­
sponse. This example contains a number of features closely reminiscent
of what happens when a sense organ responds to or collects a piece of in-
The sense of touch i s one of the most primitive and simple of the
senses , and what sensory i nformation is can easily be illustrated by using
touch as an example. In lecturing , I commonly make a heavy dot with
chalk on the surface of the blackboard , crushing the chalk a little against
the board to achieve some thickness in the patch . I now have on the
board something rather like the bump in the road . If I lower my
fingertip--a touch-sensitive area-vertically onto the white spOt , I shall
not feel it. But if I move my finger across the spot, the difference in
levels is very conspicuous. I know exactly where the edge of the dot is, ,
how steep it is, and so on . (All this assumes that I have correct opinions
about the localization and sensitivity of my fingertip, for many ancillary
sorts of information are also needed . )
What happens i s that a static , unchanging state of affairs , exist­
ing , supposedly , in the outside universe quite regardless of whether we
sense it or not , becomes the cause of an event , a step function , a sharp
change in the state of the relationship between my fingertip and the sur­
face of the blackboard . My finger goes smoothly over the unchanged sur­
face until I encounter the edge of the white spot . At that moment
time, there is a discontinuity , a step; and soon after, there is a reverse
step as my finger leaves the spot behind.
This example, which is typical of all sensory expenence, shows
how our sensory system-and surely the sensory systems of all other
creatures (even plants ?) and the mental systems behind the senses ( i . e. ,
th ose parts of the mental systems inside the creatures)--can only operate
wit h
events, which we can call changes.
The unchanging is imperceptible unless we are willing to move
relative to i t .
I n t h e case o f vision , it i s true that w e think w e can see the
unchanging . We see what looks like the stationary, unmarked black­
board , not just the outlines of the spot. But the truth of the matter is
that we continuously do with the eye what I was doing. with my finger­
tip . The eyeball has a continual tremor, called
micronystagmus. The eye­
ball vibrates through a few seconds of arc and thereby causes the optical
image on the retina to move relative to the rods and cones which are the
sensitive end organs . The end organs are thus in continual receipt of
events that correspond to
outlines in the visible world . We draw distinc­
tions; that is , we pull them out . Those distinctions that remain un­
drawn are
not. They are lost forever with the sound of the falling tree
which Bishop Berkeley did not hear. ;; They are part of William B lake's
" corporeal" : "Nobody knows of its Dwelling Place: it is in Fallacy, and
its Existence an Imposture. "t
Notoriously it is very difficult to detect gradual change because
- .llong with our high sensitivity to rapid change goes also the phenome=
:1on of accommodation . Organisms become habituated . To distinguish
:: ;)etween slow change and the (imperceptible) unchanging , we require information of a different sort; we need a clock .
The matter becomes even worse when we try to judge the
The bishop argued that only the perceived is "real" and that the tree which falls unheard makes nO
ound . I would argue that latent differences, i . e . , those which for whatever reason do not make a
= Jiff
erence , are not information . and that " parts ," "wholes," "trees ," and "sounds" exist as such only
� ,.
1I n guotation marks . I t is
who differentiate "tree" from "air" and "eart h , " "whole" from "part , "
c.�nd so o n . B u t d o not forget that the " tree" is alive and therefore itself capable o f receiving certain
,- arts of information. It too may discriminate "wet" from "dry . "
I n this book I have many times used guotation marks to remind the reader of these truths.
::; trictly speaking, every word in the book should be in guotation marks, thus: "cogito " "ergo" "sum. "
- Catalogue for the Year 1810. Blake says elsewhere, "Wise men see outlines and therefore they draw
co hem . " He is using the word
in a different sense from that in which we say we "draw" distinc­
t_ ions , but he draws similar conclusions. Attneave has demonstrated that information ( i . e . , percepti­
-,Ie difference or distinction) is necessarily concentrated at outlines. See Frederick Attneave,
ions of Information Theory to Psychology
(New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston,
. ..
ing of phenomena that are characteristically changeable. The weather , for
example, is continually changing-from hour to hour, from day to day ,
from week to week. But is it changing from year to year? Some years are
wetter and some hotter , but is there a trend i n this continual zigzag?
Only statistical study , over periods longer than human memory , can tell
us . In such cases we need i nformation about
dasses of years .
Simi larly , it is very difficult for us to perceive changes in our
own social affairs , in the ecology around us , and so on. How many peo­
ple are conscious of the astonishing decrease in the number of butterflies
in our gardens ? Or of birds ? These things undergo drastic change , but
we become accustomed to the new state of affairs before our senses can
tell us that it is new.
The feinting of a boxer, who makes moves as if to hit with his
left hand without hitting , deceives us into believing that that left hand is
not going to hit-until it does hit , and we are unpleasantly surprised.
It is a nontrivial matter that we are almost always unaware of
trends in our changes of state. There is a quasi-scientific fable that if you
can get a frog to sit quietly in a saucepan of cold water, and if you then
raise the temperature of the water very slowly and smoothly so that there
is no moment
marked to be the moment at which the frog should jump ,
he will never jump . He will get boiled. Is the human species changing
its own environment with slowly increasing pollution and rotting its
mind with slowly deteriorating religion and education in such a sauce­
But I am concerned at this moment only with understanding
how mind and mental process must
necessarily work. What are their lim­
itations? And , precisely because the mind can receive news only of dif­
ference, there is a difficulty in discriminating between a slow
change and
a state. There is necessarily a threshold of gradient below which gradient
cannot be perceived .
Difference , bei ng of the nature of relationship , is not located in
time or in space . We say that the white spot is "there , " "in the middle
of the blackboard , " but the difference between the spot and the black­
board is not "there . " It is not in the spot; it is not in the blackboard ; it
is not in the space between the board and the chalk. I could perhaps l ift
the chalk off the board and send it to Australia , but the difference would
not be destroyed or even shifted because difference does not have loca­
When 1 wipe the blackboard , where does the difference go? In
one sense, the difference is randomized and irreversi bly gone, as "I" shall
be gone when 1 die . In another sense, the difference will endure as an
idea-as part of my
karma--as long as this book is read , perhaps as long
as the ideas in this book go on to form other ideas , reincorporated into
other minds. But this enduring karmic information will be information
about an imaginary spot on an imaginary blackboard .
Kant argued long ago that this piece of chalk contains a million
(Tatsachen) but that only a very few of these become truly
potential facts
facts by affecting the behavior of entities capable of responding to facts.
Tatsachen, I would substitute differences and point out that the '
number ofpotential differences in this chalk is infinite but that very few
of them become effective differences ( i . e . , items of information) i n the
mental process of any l arger entity. Information consists of differences
For Kant's
that make a difference .
. . .
.. ..
.. -
- . --.- - --
-.- .. ..---.- -
If r call ' attentiOo' corhe dlfference between the chalk and a piece
of cheese, you will be affected by that difference, perhaps avoiding the
eati ng of the chalk , perhaps tasting it to verify my clai m . Its noncheese
nature has become an effective difference. But a million other dif­
ferences-positive and negative, internal and external to the chalk­
remain latent and ineffective.
Bishop Berkeley was right, at least in asserting that what happens
meaningless if he is not there to be affected by i t .
W e are discussi ng a world o f meaning, a world some o f whose de­
in the forest is
tails and differences , big and smal l , in some parts of that world , get
represented in relations between other parts of that total world . A change
in my neurons or in yours must represent that change in the forest , that
falling of that tree. But not the physical event , only the
idea of the phys­
ical event . And the idea has no location in space or time---Dn ly perhaps
in an
idea of space or time.
Then there is the concept "energy, " whose precise referent is
fashionably concealed by contemporary forms of obscurantism . 1 am not
a physicist , not up to date in modern physics , but 1 note that there are
t wo conventional definitions or aspects (is that the word ?) of "energy. " I
have a difficulty
twO definitions
neously-they seem to conflict . But it is clear to me that neither defini­
tion is relevant to what I am talking about .
One definition asserts that "energy" is of the same order of ab­
substances and are mutually
convertible one into the other. But difference is precisely not substance.
straction as " matter" ; that both are somehow
The other definition is more old-fashioned and describes energy
M V2 . Of course, difference, which is usually a
ratio between similars , has no dimensions . It is qualitative, not quantita­
tive. (See Chapter 2 , in which the relation between quantity and quality
as having the dimensions
or pattern was examined . )
For m e , the word
stimulus denotes a member o f a class o f infor­
mation coming in through a sense organ . For many speakers , it seems to
mean a push or shot of "energy. "
If there are readers who still want to equate i nformation and dif­
ference with energy, I would remind them that zero differs from
one and
can therefore trigger response. The starving amoeba will become more
active, hunting for food; the growing plant will bend away from the
dark, and the i ncome tax people will become alerted by the declarations
which you did not send. Events
which are not are different from those
which might have been, and events which are not surely contribute no
Although it is clear that mental processes are triggered by dif­
ference (at the simplest level) and that difference is
not energy and
usually contains no energy, it remains necessary to discuss the energetics
of mental process because processes , of whatever kind , require energy.
Living things are subject to the great conservative regularities of
physics. The laws of conservation of mass and of energy apply com­
pletely to l iving creatures. There is no creation or destruction of energy
(M V2) in the business of living . On the other hand , the syntax for the
describing of the energetics of life is a different syntax from that which
was used
100 years ago to describe the energetics of force and impact.
This difference of syntax is my third criterion of mental process.
There is a tendency t oday among subatomic physicists to use
1 00
metaphors taken from life to describe the events inside the accelerator.
No doubt this trick of speech, technically called the pathetic fallacy, is as
wrong as that of which I complai n , although less dangerous. To liken
the mountain to a man and talk of its "humor" or "rage" does little
harm . But to liken the man to the mountain proposes that all human
relationships are what Marti n Buber might call
I-it or perhaps it-it rela­
tions. The mountain , personified in our speech , will not become a per­
son , will not
learn a more personal way of being . But the human being ,
depersonified in his own talk and thought , may i ndeed learn more
thingish habits of action.
In the opening paragraph of this section , the word
triggered was
used with intent . The metaphor is not perfect , ;; but it is at least more
appropriate than all the metaphoric forms which ascri be relevance to the
energy contai ned in the stimulus event . Billiard-ball physics proposes
that when ball A hits ball B , A
gives energy to B , which responds using
this energy which A gave i t . That is the old syntax and is profoundly,
deeply nonsense. Between billiard balls , there is, of course , no "hitting"
or "giving" or "responding" or "using . " Those words come out of the
habit of personifying things and , I suppose, make it easier to go from
that nonsense to thingifying people--s o that when we speak of the
"response" of a living thing to an "external stimulus, " we seem to be
talking about something like what happens to a bill iard ball when it is
hit by another.
When I kick a stone, I give energy to the stone , and it moves
with that energy; and when I kick a dog, it is true that my kick has a
partly Newtonian effect . If it is hard enough , my kick might put the
dog into Newtonian orbit , but that is not the essence of the matter.
When I kick a dog , it responds with energy got from metabolism . In
the "control" of action by information , the energy is already available in
the respondent , in advance of the impact of events.
The trick , which life plays continually but which undomes-
• Firearms are a somewhat i nappropriate metaphor because i n most simple firearms , there is only a
l ineal sequence of energetic dependencies. The trigger rtleases a pin or hammer whose movement,
when released , i s energized by a spring. The hammer fires a percussion cap which is energized by
chemical energy to provide an i ntense exothermic reaction. which sets alight the main supply of ex­
plosive in the cartridge. In nonrepeating firearms, the marksman must now replace the energetic
chain, i nserting a new cartridge with new percussion cap. In biological systems, the end of the
lI neal sequence sets up conditions for a future repetition.
10 1
ticated matter plays only rarely, is familiar. It is the trick of the faucet,
the switch , the relay, the chain reaction, and so on-to name a few in­
stances in which the nonliving world does indeed simulate true living in
a gross way.
In all these cases, the energy for the. response or effect was avail­
able in the respondent before the event occurred which triggered it . The
kids who say they are "turned on" by certain experiences of sight or
sound are using a metaphor which almost makes sense . They would do
better still if they said that the music or the pretty face "released" them.
I n life and its affairs, there are typically two energetic systems i n
interdependence: One is the system that uses its energy t o open or close
the faucet or gate or relay; the other is the system whose energy " flows
through" the faucet or gate when it is open.
The ON position of the switch is a pathway for the passage of
energy which originates elsewhere. When I turn the faucet , my work in
turning the faucet does not push or pull the flow of the water . That
work is done by pumps or gravity whose force is set free by m y opening
the faucet . I , in "control" of the faucet , am "permissive" or "constrain­
ing " ; the flow of the water is energized from other sources . I partly de­
termine what pathways the water will take if it flows at all . Whether it
flows is not my immediate business.
The combining of the two systems (the machinery of decision
and the source of energy) makes the total relationship into one of partial
mobility on each side. You can take a horse to the water, but you cannot
make him drink. The drinking is his business . But even if your horse is
thirsty, he cannot drink unless you take him . The taking is your busi­
But I oversimplifY the matter by focusing only on the energetics.
There is also the generalization (criterion 2) that only difference can
trigger response. We have to combine that generalization with whathaS'"
jusr been said about the typical relation of energy sources and with the
remaining criteria of mental process, namely , the organization of
triggered events into circuits , coding, and the genesis of hierarchies of
If mere survival , mere continuance,
of interest , then the
harder sorts of rocks , such as granite , have to be put near the top of the
list as most successful among macroscopic entities. They have retained
their characteristics unchanged since quite early in the formation of the
earth's crust and have achieved this in many varied environments from
poles to tropics . If the simple tautology of the theory of natural selection
be stated as "those descriptive propositions which remai n true for
longest time remain true longer than those that become untrue sooner , "
then granite is a more successful entity than any species o f organism .
Bur the rock's way of staying in the game is different from the
way of living things . The rock , we may say,
resists change; it stays put ,
The living thing escapes change either by correcting
change or changing itself to meet the change or by i ncorporating contin­
ual change into its own being . "Stability" may be achieved either by ri­
gidity or by continual repetition of some cycle of smaller changes , which
cycle will return to a
status quo ante after every disturbance. Nature
avoids (temporarily) what looks like irreversible change by accepting
ephemeral change. "The bamboo bends before the wind , " in Japanese
metaphor; and death itself is avoided by a quick change from individual
subject to class . Nature , to personify the system, allows old man Death
(also personified) to have his individual victims while she substitutes
that more abstract entity , the class or taxon , to kill which Death must
work faster than the reproductive systems of the creatures. Finally, if
Death should have his victory over the species, Nature will say, "Just
What I needed for my ecosystem . "
All this becomes possible b y combination o f those criteria of
me ntal process that have already been mentioned with this fourth crite­
riOri , that the organization of living things depends upon circular and
more complex chains of determination. All the fu ndamental criteria are
combined to achieve success in that mode of survival which characterizes
life .
The idea that circular causation is of very great importance was
first generalized at the end of World War II by Norbert Wiener and
O'" ,/0
Figure 8
perhaps other engineers who were working with the mathematics of
nonliving systems (i . e. , machines) . This matter is best understood by
means of a highly simplified mechanical diagram (Figure 8).
Imagine a machine in which we distinguish , say, four parts,
which I have loosely called "flywheel , " "governor , " "fuel , " and "cylin- :
der . " In addition, the machine is connected to the outside world in twO
ways , "energy i nput" and "load , " which is to be imagined as variable
and perhaps weighing upon the flywheel . The machine is circular in the
sense that flywheel drives governor which alters fuel supply which feeds
cylinder which , in turn , drives flywheel.
Because the system is circular, effects of events at any point in ':
the circuit can be carried all around to produce changes at that point of
In such a diagram , arrows are used to indicate direction from
cause to effect , and it is possible to imagine any combination of types of
causation from step to step . The arrows may be supposed to represent
mathematical functions or equations showing the types of effect that sue- "
cessive parts have on each other. Thus, the angle of the arms of the gOV-
ernor I S to be expressed as a function of the angular velocity of the
flywhee l . And so on .
In the simplest case, all the arrows represent ei ther no gain or pos­
itive gain from part to part. In this case , the governor will be connected
(() the fuel supply in a way which no engineer would approve, namely,
so that the more the arms of the governor diverge , the more the fuel . So
rigged , the machine will go into a runaway, operating exponentially
faster and faster, until either some part breaks or perhaps the fuel duct
can deliver fuel at no greater rate.
But the system might equally be set up with one or more inverse
relations at arrow junctures. This is the usual way of setting up gover­
nors , and the name governor is applied to that part which provides the
first half of such a relation . In this case, the more the arms diverge , the
leSf the fuel supply.
As a matter of history, systems with posItive gam, variously
called escalating or vicious circles, were anciently fami liar . In my own
work with the Iatmul tribe on the Sepik River in New Guinea, I had
found that various relations among groups and among various types of
kin were characterized by interchanges of behavior such that the more A
exhibited a given behavior , the more B was l ikely to exhibit the same
behavior. These I called symmetrical interchanges . Conversel y , there were
also stylized interchanges in which B's behavior was different from , but
complementary to, that of A. In either case, the relations were potentially
subject to progressive escalation , which I called schismogenesis.
I noted at that time that either symmetrical or complementary
sch ismogenesis could conceivably lead to runaway and the breakdown of
the system . There was positive gain at each interchange and a sufficient
supply of energy from the metabolism of the persons concerned to de­
stroy the system in rage or greed or shame. It takes rather little energy
(M V2) to enable a human being to destroy others or the integration of a
society .
In other words , in the 1 930s I was already familiar with the idea
of " ru na way" and was already engaged in classifying such phenomena
and even speculating about possible combinations of different SOrts of
ru naway. But at that time, I had no idea that there might be circuits of
cau satio n which would contain one or more negative links and might
therefore be self-corrective. Nor, of course , did I see that runaway sys-
terns, such as population growth, might contain the seeds of their ow
self-correction in the form of epidemics, wars , and government pr(}..
grams .
Many self-corrective systems were also already known. That is
principle remained unknown . In
individual cases were known, but the
• .
deed , occidental man's repeated discovery of instances and inability to
perceive the underlying principle demonstrate the rigidity of his
temology . Discoveries and rediscoveries of the principle i nc lude
marek's transform ism
( 1 809), James Watt's invention of the
for the steam engine (late eighteenth century) , Alfred Russel
( 1856) , Clark Maxwell's matu�,ua."'''II'j ;
analysis of the steam engine with a governor ( 1868), Claude .v"'''i�lLl
milieu interne, Hegelian and Marxian analyses of social process,
Cannon's Wisdom of the Body ( 1932), and the various mutually lOrloelpen'"
perception of natural selection
dent steps in the development of cybernetics and systems theory
and immediately after World War II .
Finally , the famous paper in
Philosophy of Science by
Wiener, and Bigelow ;o proposed that the self-corrective circuit and
many variants provided possibilities for modeling the adaptive actions
organisms . The central problem of Greek philosophy-the problem
purpose , unsolved for
2 , 500 years-came within range of rigorous
sis. It was possible to model even such marvelous sequences as the
jump , timed and directed to land where the mouse will be when the
lands .
In passing , however, it is worth asking whether the difficulty
recognizing this basic cybernetic principle was due only to
laziness when asked to make a basic change in the paradigms of
thought or whether there were other processes preventing acceptance ..
what seems to have bee n , as we look back, a very simple idea. Was
older epistemology itself reinforced by self-corrective or runaway
A rather detailed account of the nineteenth-century history of
steam engine with governor may help the reader to understand both
circuits and the blindness of t he inventors. Some sort of governor
added to the early steam engine , but the engi neers ran into
• Rosenblueth, A " N . Wiener, and J. Bigelow, "Behavior, Purpose and Teleology,"
Science 10 094,): 18-24.
' nL
"-fINn AND NA11)RE
They came to Clark Maxwell with the complaint that they could not
draw a blueprint for an engine with a governor. They had no theoretical
base from which to predict how the machine that they had drawn would
behave when built and running.
There were several possible sorts of behavior: Some machines
went in to runaway, exponentially maximizing their speed until they
broke or slowing down until they stopped . Others oscillated and seemed
unable to settle to any mean.
Others-still wors e--embarked on
sequences of behavior in which the amplitude of their oscillation would
itself oscillate or would become greater and greater.
Maxwell examined the problem . He wrote out formal equations
for rel ations between the variables at each successive step around the cir­
cuit . He found , as the engineers had found , that combining this set of
equations would not solve the problem . Finally , he found that the engi­
neers were at fault in not considering
time. Every given system embodied
relations to time, that i s , was characterized by time constants deter­
whole. These constants were not determined by the
equations of relationship between successive parts but were emergent
mined by the given
properties of the system.
Imagine for a moment that the engine is running smoothly and
encounters a load. I t must go uphill or drive some appliance. Immedi­
ately , the angular velocity of the flywheel will fall off. This will cause
the governor to spi n less fast . The weighted arms of the governor will
fall , reducing the angle between arms and shaft . As this angle decreases ,
more fuel will be injected into the cylinder, and the machine wi ll speed
up , changing the angular velocity of the flywheel in a sense contrary to
that change which the load had induced .
But whether the corrective change will precisely correct the
changes that the load induced is a question of some difficulty. After all ,
th e whol e process occurs i n time. At some time 1 , the load was encoun­
tered . The change in the speed of the flywheel followed time 1 . The
change s in the
governor followed still later . Finally the corrective mes­
Sage reach ed
the flywheel at some time 2 , later than time 1 . But the
OU nt of the correction was determined by the amount of deviation at
t I me 1 .
By time 2 , the deviation will have changed .
At this point , note that a very interesting phenomenon has oc­
Curred wit
hin our description of the events. When we were talking as if
we were inside the circuit, we noted changes in the behavior of the parts
whose magnitude and timing were determined by forces and impacts be­
tween the separate components of the circuit. Step by step around the
circuit , my language had the general form: A change in A determines a
change in B . And so on. But when the description reaches the place
from which it (arbitrarily) started , there is a sudden change in this syn­
tax. The description now must compare change with change and use the
result of that comparison to account for the next step.
In other words , a subtle change has occurred in the subject of
discourse, which, in the j argon of the last section (criterion 6) of this
chapter, we shall call a change in logical typing. It is the difference be­
tween talking in a language which a physicist might use to describe how
one variable acts upon another and talking i n another language about the
circuit as a whole which reduces or increases difference. When we say
that the system exhibits "steady state" ( i . e . , that i n spite of variation , it
retains a median value) , we are talking about the circuit as a whole, not
about the variations within it . Similarly the question which the engi­
neers brought to Clark Maxwell was abour the circuit as a whole: How
can we plan it to achieve a steady state? They expected the answer to be
in terms of relations between the individual variables . What was needed
and supplied by Maxwell was an answer in terms of the time constants of
the total circuit . This was the bridge between the two levels of dis­
The entities and variables that fill the stage at one level of dis­
into the background at the next-higher or -lower level.
This may be conveniently illustrated by considering the referent of the
word switch, which engineers at times call a gate or relay . What goes
through is energized from a source that is different from the energy
source which opens the gate.
At first thought a "switch" is a small contraption on the wall
which turns the light on or off. Or, with more pedantry, we note that
the light is turned on or off by human hands "using" the switch. And so
on .
We do not notice that the concept "switch" is of quite a dif­
ferent order from the concepts "stone, " "table, " and the like. Closer ex­
amination shows that the switch, considered as a part of an electric cir­
cuit , does not exist when it is in the on position. From the point of view
of the circuit , it is not different from the conducting wire which leads to
it and the wire which leads away from it. It is merely "more conductor. "
Conversely, but similarly , when the switch is off, i t does not exist from
the point of view of the circuit. It is nothing , a gap between two con­
ductors which, themselves exist only as conductors when the switch is
In other words, the switch is not except at the moments of its
change of setting , and the concept "switch" has thus a special relation to
time. It is related to the notion "change" rather than to the notion "ob­
ject .
Sense organs, as we have already noted, admit only news of dif­
ference and are indeed normally triggered only by change, i . e. , by
events or by those differences in the perceived world which can be made
into events by moving the sense organ . In other words , the end organs
of sense are analogous to switches. They must be turned "on" for a
single moment by external impact. That single moment is the generat­
ing of a single impulse in the afferent nerve. The threshold (i . e . , the
amount of event required to throw the switch) is , of course, another
matter and may be changed by many physiological circumstances , in­
cluding the state of the neighboring end organs.
The ttuth of the matter is that every circuit of causation in the
whole of biology, in our physiology , in our thinking , our neural pro­
cesses , in our homeostasis , and in the ecological and cultural systems of
which we are parts--every such circuit conceals or proposes those para­
doxes and confusions that accompany errors and distortions in logical
typing. This matter, closely tied both to the matter of circuitry and to
the matter of coding (criterion 5 ) , will be considered more fully in the
discussion of criterion 6.
At this point, we must consider how the differences examined in
th e discussion of criterion 2 and their trains of effect in promoting other
differences become material of information, redundancy , pattern , and so
on. First, we have to note that any object, event , or difference in the so­
called "outside world" can become a source of information provided that
it is incorporated into a circuit with an appropriate network of flexible
material in which it can produce changes. In this sense, the solar eclipse,
the print of the horse's hoof, the shape of the leaf, the eyespot on a
peacock's feather-whatever it may b�an be incorporated into mind
if it touches off such trains of consequence.
We proceed , then , to the broadest-possible statement of Kor­
zybski's famous generalization. He asserted that the map is not the terri­
tory. Looking at the matter in the very wide perspective that we are now
usmg , we see the map as some sort of effect summating differences,
organizing news of differences in the "territory . " Korzybski's map is a
convenient metaphor and has helped a great many people, but boiled
down to its ultimate simplicity, his generalization asserts that the effect
is not the cause.
This-the fact of difference between effect and cause when both
are i ncorporated into an appropriately flexible system-is the pnmary
premise of what we may call transformation or coding.
Some regularity in the relation between effect and cause is, of
course , assumed . Without that , no mind could possibly guess at cause
from effect. But granted such a regularity, we can go on to classify the
various sorts of relationship that can obtain between effect and cause.
This classification will later embrace very complex cases when we en­
counter complex aggregates of information that may be called patterns,
aaion sequences, and the like.
Even greater variety of transformation or coding arises from the
fact that the respondent to difference is almost universally energized by
collateral energy. (Criterion 3 , above. ) There then need be no simple
relation between the magnitude of the event or difference which triggers
the response and the resulting response.
However , the first dichotomy that I wish to impose on the mul­
titudinous varieties of trans formation is that which would divide the
cases in which response is graded according to some variable in the trig­
ger event , as opposed to those in which the response is a matter of on-off
thresholds. The steam engine with a governor provides a typical instance
of one type, in which the angle of the arms of the governor is continu­
ously variable and has a continuously variable effect on the fuel supply .
1 10
In contrast, the house thermostat is an on-off mechanism in which tem­
perature causes a thermometer to throw a switch at a certain level. This
is the dichotomy between ana/ogic systems (those that vary continuously
and in step with magnitudes in the trigger event) and digital systems
(those that have the on-off characteristic).
Notice that the digital systems more closely resemble systems
containing number; whereas analogic systems seem to be dependent
more on quantity. The difference between these two genera of coding is
an example of the generalization (discussed in Chapter 2) that number is
different from quantity. There is a discontinuity between each number
and the next , as in digital systems there is discontinuity between "re­
sponse" and "no response. " This is the discontinuity between "yes" and
In the early days of cybernetics, we used to argue about whether
the brain is, on the whole, an analogic or a digital mechanism . That
argument has since disappeared with the realization that description of
the brain has to start from the all-or-nothing characteristic of the
neuron. At least in a vast majority of instances , the neuron either fires or
does not fire; and if this were the end of the story, the system would be
purely digital and binary. But it is possible to make systems out of digi­
tal neurons that will have the appearance of being analogic systems. This
is done by the simple device of multiplying the pathways so that a given
cluster of pathways might consist of hundreds of neurons , of which a
certain percentage would be firing and a certain other percentage would
be quiet , thus giving an apparently graded response. In addition , the in­
dividual neuron is modified by hormonal and other environmental condi­
tions around it that may alter its threshold in a truly quantitative man­
I recal l , however, that in those days , before we had fully realized
the degree to which analogical and digital characteristics might be com­
bined in one system , the discussants who argued to and fro on the ques­
tion of whether the brain is analogic or digital showed very marked indi­
vidual and irrational preferences for one or the other view. I tended to
prefer hypotheses stressing the digital; whereas those more influenced by
physiology and perhaps less by the phenomena of language and overt be­
havior tended to favor the analogic explanations .
Other classifications of types of coding are important in the
problem of recognizing mental characteristics in very primitive entities.
I n some highly diffuse systems, it is not easy, perhaps not possible, to
recognize either sense organs or pathways along which information
travels. Ecosystems such as a seashore or a redwood forest are undoubt­
edly self-corrective. If in a given year the population of some species is
unusually increased or reduced , within a very few years that population
will return to its usual level . But it is not easy to point to any part of
the system which is the sense organ gathering information and influenc- ,
ing corrective action. I think that such systems are quantitative and
gradual and that the quantities whose
differences are the informational in­
dicators are at the same time quantities of needed supplies (food , energy,
water, sunlight , and so on) . A great deal of research has been done on
the energy pathways (e . g . , food chains and water supplies) in such sys­
tems. But I do not know of any specific study that looks at these
carrying immanent information. It would be nice to know
whether these are analogic systems in which
difference between events i n
one round o f the circuit and events in the next round (as i n t h e steam
engine with governor) becomes the crucial factor in the self-corrective
When the growing seedling bends toward light, it is influenced
by difference in illumination and grows more rapidly on the darker side,
thus bending and catching more l ight-a substi tute for locomotion
depending upon difference.
Two other forms of transform or coding are worth mentioning
because they are very simple and very easily overlooked . One is
plate coding , i n which , for example, in the growth of any organism , t h� .
shape and morphogenesis that occur at the growing point are commonly
defined by the state of the growing surface at the time of growth . To
cite a very trivial example , the trunk of a palm tree continues more or
less parallel-sided from the bole up to the top , where the growing point
i s . At any point, the growing tissue, or cambium , is deposi ting wood
downward behind it on the face of the already grown trunk. That i s , the
shape of what it deposits is determined by the shape of the previous
growth . Similarly , in regeneration of wounds and such things, it would
seem that rather often the shape of the regenerative tissue and its dif­
ferentiation are determined by the shape and differentiation of the cut
face . This is perhaps as near to a case of "direct" communication as can
1 12
be imagined . But it should be noted that in many cases , the growth of,
for example , the regenerating organ has to be the mirror image of the
srare of affairs at the interface with the old body. If the face is indeed
rwo-dimensional and has no depth , then rhe growing component pre­
sumably takes its depth direction from some other source.
The other type of communication that is often forgotten is called
ostensive. If I say to you, "That's what a car looks like , " pointing to the
cat, I am using the cat as an ostensive component in my com­
mu nication . If I walk down the street and see you coming and say, "Oh ,
the re's Bill , " I have received information ostensively from you, (your ap­
pearance, your walk, and so on) whether or not you intended to transmit
that information .
Ostensive communication is peculiarly important in language
learning. Imagine a situation in which a speaker of a given language
must teach that language to some other individual under circumstances
in which ostensive communication is strictly limited . Suppose A must
teach B a language totally unknown to B over the telephone and that
they have no other language in common. A will be able, perhaps , to
communicate to B some characteristics of voice, of cadence, even of
grammar; but it is quite impossible for A to tell B what any word
"means" in the ordinary sense. So far as B is concerned , substantives and
verbs will be only grammatical entities, not names of identifiable ob­
jects . Cadence, sequential structure, and the like are present in the
sequence of sounds sent over the telephone and can conceivably be
"pointed to" and therefore taught to B .
Ostensive communication i s perhaps similarly necessary in the
learning of any transformation or code. For example, in all learning ex­
periments , the giving or withholding of the reinforcement is an approxi­
mate method of pointing to the right response. In the training of per­
form ing animals, various devices are used to make this pointing more
accurate. The trainer may have a whistle that is very briefly tooted at the
precise moment when the animal does the right thing , thereby using the
responses of the learner as ostensive examples in the teaching.
Another form of very primitive coding which is ostensive is part­
/or-whole coding. For example, I see a redwood tree standing up out of
the ground , and I know from this perception that underneath the
ground at that point I shall find roots , or I hear the beginnings of a sen•
1 13
tence and know at once from that beginning the grammatical structure
of the rest of the sentence and may very well know many of the words
and ideas contained in it. We live in a life in which our percepts are
perhaps always the perception of parts, and our guesses about wholes are
continually being verified or contradicted by the later presentation of
other parts. It is perhaps so, that wholes can never be presented; for that
would involve direct communication.
This section must undertake two tasks: first , to make the reader
understand what is meant by logical types and related ideas, which, I n
various forms, have fascinated man for a t least 3 , 000 years . Second , to
persuade the reader that what I am talking about is characteristic of
mental process and is even a necessary characteristic. Neither of these
two tasks is entirely simple, but William Blake commented, "Truth can
never be told so as to be understood and not be believ'd . " So, the two
tasks become one task, that of exhibiting the truth so that it can be un­
derstood; though I well know that to tell the truth in any important area
of life so as to be understood is an excessively difficult feat , in which
Blake himself rarely succeeded.
I shall begin with an abstract presentation of what I mean , and I
shall follow that with rather simple cases to illustrate the ideas. Finally,
I shall try to drive home the importance of this criterion by exhibiting
cases in which the discrimination of levels of communication has been so
confused or distorted that various sorts of frustration and pathology have
been the result.
For the abstract presentation, consider the case of a very simple
relationship between two organisms in which organism A has emitted
some SOrt of sound or posture from which B could learn something about
the state of A relevant to B's own existence. It might be a threat, a sex­
ual advance , a move towards nurturing , or an indication of membership
in the same species. I already noted in the discussion of coding (criterion
5) that no message, under any circumstances, is that which precipitated
it. There is always a partly predictable and therefore rather regular rela­
tion between message and referent , that relation indeed never being
direct or simple. Therefore , if B is going to deal with A's i ndication, it
is absolutely necessary that B know what those indications mean. Thus ,
there comes into existence another
class of information , which B must
assimilate, to tell B about the coding of messages or indications coming
from A. Messages of this class wi ll be , not about A or
B , but about the
coding of messages . They will be of a different logical type. I will call
Again, beyond messages about simple coding , there are much
more subtle messages that become necessary because codes are condi­
tional; that i s , the meaning of a given type of action or sound changes
relative to
context, and especially relative to the changing state of the
relationship between A and B. If at a given moment the relation be­
comes playful , this will c hange the meaning of many signals . It was the
observation that this was true for the animal as well as the human world
which led me to the research that generated the so-called
dOllb/e bind
theory of schizophrenia and to the whole epistemology offered in this
book . The zebra may identify (for the lion) the nature of the context in
which they meet by bolting , and even the well-fed lion may give chase.
But the hungry lion needs no such labeling of that particular context.
He learned long ago that zebras can be eaten. Or was this lesson so early
as to require no teaching? Were parts of the necessary knowledge innate?
The whole matter of messages which make some other message
intelligible by putting i t in context must be considered , but in the
seneY: of such metacommunicative messages , there is still the possibility
that B will ascribe context to A's signal , being guided in this by genetic
It is perhaps at this abstract level that l earning and genetics
meet. Genes may perhaps i nfluence an animal by determining how it
will perceive and classify the contexts of its learning . But mammals, at
least, are capable also of leaming
about context.
What used to be called character-i . e . , the system of in terpreta­
tions which we place on the contexts we encounter--can be shaped both
b y genetics and by learni ng .
All this is premised on the existence of /ez.·els whose nature I am
he re trying to make clear. We start , then , with a potential differentia•
1 15
tion between action in context and action or behavior which defines con­
text or makes context intelligible. For a long time, I referred to the lat­
ter type of communication as meta communication borrowing this term
from Whorf. '*'
A function, an effect , of the metamessage is in fact to classify the
messages that occur within its context. It is at this point that the theory
offered here connects with the work of Russell and Whitehead in the
first ten years of this century, finally published in 1 9 1 0 as Principia
Mathematica. t What Russell and Whitehead were tackling was a very
abstract problem. Logic , in which they believed , was to be salvaged
from the tangles created when the logical types, as Russell called them, :
are maltreated in mathematical presentation. Whether Russell and
Whitehead had any idea when they were working on Principia that the
matter of their interest was vital to the life of human beings and other
organisms , I do not know. Whitehead certainly knew that human ·
beings could be amused and humor generated by kidding around with
the types. But I doubt whether he ever made the step from enjoying this ·
game to seeing that the game was nontrivial and would cast light on the
whole of biology. The more general insight was-perhaps uncon- : I
sciously-avoided rather than contemplate the nature of the human
dilemmas that the insight would propose.
The mere fact of humor in human relations indicates that at least
at this biological level , multiple typing is essential to human com­
munication. In the absence of the distortions of logical typing, humor "
would be unnecessary and perhaps could not exist.
Even at a very abstract level , phenomena provoked by logical ·
typing have fascinated thinkers and fools for many thousands of years.
But logic had to be saved from the paradoxes which clowns might enjoy.
One of the first things that Russell and Whitehead observed in attempt- :
ing this was that the ancient paradox of Epimenides-"Epimenides was
a Cretan who said , 'Cretans always lie' "-was built upon classification
and metaclassification . I have presented the paradox here in the form of a
quotation within a quotation , and this is precisely how the paradox is
• B. L. Whorf, Language, Thought, and Reality (Cambridge, Mass . : Technical Press of Mas­
sachusecrs Institute of Technology,
t A . N. Whitehead and B . Russe l l ,
sity Press , 1 9 10-- 1 9 1 3).
1 16
Principia Mathematica, 2 d ed . (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer­
generated. The larger quotation becomes a classifier for the smaller,
u ntil the smaller quotation takes over and reclassifies the larger , to create
contradiction. When we ask, "Could Epimenides be telling the truth?"
the answer is: "If yes, then no, " and "If no , then yes . "
Norbert Wiener used to point out that i f you present the Epi­
rnenide paradox to a computer, the answer will come out YES . . . NO
. . . YES . . . NO . . . until the computer runs out of ink or energy or
encounters some other ceiling. As I noted in Chapter 2 , section 1 6 ,
logic cannot model causal systems , and paradox i s generated when time
is ignored .
If we look at any l iving organism and start to ask about its ac­
posrures, we meet with such a tangle or network of messages
that the theoretical problems outlined in the previous paragraph become
confused. In the enormous mass of interlocking observation , it becomes
exceedingly difficult to say that this message or position of the ears is, in
fact , meta- to that other observation of the folding of the front legs or the
position of the tail .
In front of me on the table is a sleeping cat . While I was dictat­
ing the last hundred words, the cat changed her position . She was sleep­
ing on her right side, her head pointing more or less away from me, her
ears in a position that did not suggest to me alertness , eyes closed , front
feet curled up-a familiar arrangement of the body of a cat . While I
spoke and, indeed, was watching the cat for behavior, the head turned
toward me, the eyes remained closed , respiration changed a l ittle, the
ears moved into a half alert position; and it appeared, rightly or wrongly,
that the cat was now still asleep but aware of my existence and aware,
perhaps, that she was a part of the dictated material . This increase of at­
tention happened before the cat was mentioned, that is , before I began to
dictate the present paragraph . Now, with the cat fully mentioned , the
head has gone down, the nose is between the front legs, the ears have
Stopped being alert. She has decided that her involvement in the conver­
sation does not matter.
Watching this sequence of cat behavior and the sequence of my
reading of it (because the system we are talking about is , in the end , not
J ust cat but man-cat and perhaps should be considered more complexly
than that, as man-watching-man's-watching-cat-watchi ng-man) , there is
a hierarchy of contextual components as well as a hierarchy concealed
1 17
within the enormous number of signals given by the cat about herself.
What seems to be the case is that the messages emanating from
the cat are interrelated in a complex net , and the cat herself might be
surprised if she could discover how difficult it is to unscramble that
mass . No doubt another cat would do the unscrambling better than a
human being . But to the human being-and even the trained ethologist
is often surprised-the relations between component signals are con­
fused . However, the human "understands" the cat by putting the pieces
together as if he really knew what is happening . He forms hypotheses, and
these are continually checked or corrected by less ambiguous actions of
the animal .
Cross-species communication is always a sequence of contexts of
learning in which each species is continually being corrected as to the
nature of each previous context .
In other words, the metarelations between particular signals may
be confused but understanding may emerge again as true at the next
more abstract level . '*'
In some contexts of ani mal behavior or relations between human
and animal , the levels are in some degree separated not only by the
human but also by the animal . I shall exemplify this in twO narratives,
the first a discussion of the classical Pavlovian experiments on experi­
mental neurosis and the second an account of research into human­
dolphin relations with which I was connected at the Oceanic Institute in
Hawai i . This will constitute a pair of contrasting cases, in one of which
the tangle leads to pathology, while in the other the logical types are fi­
nally transcended by the animal.
The Pavlovian case is very famous , but my interpretation of it is
different from the standard interpretation, and this difference consists
precisely in my insistence on the relevance of context to meaning , which !
relevance is an example of one set of messages metacommunicative to
The paradigm for experimental neurosis 1S as follows: A dog .:
The reader is reminded here of what was said about the fallacy of Lunarckism (Chapter 2, section
7). Lunarck proposed that envirorunemal impact could directly affect the genes of rhe single indi­
vidual. That is umrue. What is true is a proposition of next-higher logical type: that the envi ronmem does have direct impact on the gene pool of the population .
1 18
s .
(commonly a male) is trained to respond differentially to two alternative
"conditioned stimul i , " for instance, a circle or an ellipse. In response to
X , he is to do A; in response to Y, he is to do B. If in his responses , the
dog exhibits this differentiation , he is said to discriminate between the
twO stimuli and he is positively reinforced or, in Pavlovian language,
given an "unconditioned stimulus" of food. When the dog is able to dis­
criminate , the task is made somewhat more difficult by the experi­
menter, who will either make the ellipse somewhat fatter or make the
circle somewhat flatter so that the contrast between the two stimulus ob­
jects becomes less . At this point , the dog will have to put out extra ef­
fort to discriminate between them . But when the dog succeeds in doing
this, the experimenter will again make things more difficult by a similar
change. By such a series of steps, the dog is led to a situation in which
finally he cannot discriminate between the objects. At this point , if the
experiment has been performed with sufficient rigor, the dog will ex­
hibit various symptoms. He may bite his keeper , he may refuse food , he
may become disobedient , he may become comatose, and so on . Which
set of symptoms the dog exhibits depends , it is claimed , upon the "tem­
perament" of the dog, excitable dogs choosing one set of symptoms and
lethargic dogs choosing another.
Now, from the point of view of the present chapter, we have to
examine the difference between two verbal forms contained in the ortho­
dox explanation of this sequence. One verbal form is "the dog discrimi­
nates between the two stimuli" ; the other is "the dog's discrimination
breaks down . " I n this jump, the scientist has moved from a statement
about a particular incident or incidents which can be seen to a general­
ization that is hooked up to an abstraction-"discrimination"-located
beyond vision perhaps inside the dog. It is this jump i n logical type that is
the theorist's error. I can, in a sense, see the dog discriminate. but I can­
not possibly see his "discrimination. " There is a jump here from particu­
lar to general , from member to class. It seems to me that a better way of
saying it would depend upon asking: "What has the dog learned in his
training that makes him unable to accept fai lure at the end?" And the an­
SWer to this question would seem to be: The dog has learned that this is
a context/or discrimination . That is , that he " should" look for two stimuli and
"should" look for the possibility of acting on a difference between them .
1 19
For the dog , this is the " task" which has been set-the context in which
success will be rewarded . '*'
Obviously , a context in which there is no perceptible difference
between the twO stimuli is not one for discrimination. I am sure the ex­
perimenter could induce neurosis by using a single object repeatedly and
tossing a coin each time to decide whether this single object should be
interpreted as an X or as a Y. In other words, an appropriate response
for the dog would be to take out a coin, toss it, and use the fall of the
coin to decide his action. Unfortunately , the dog has no pocket in which
to carry coins and has been very carefully trained in what has now
become a lie; that is, the dog has been trained to expect a context for
discrimination. He now imposes this interpretation On a context that is
not a context for discrimination. He has been taught not to discriminate
between two classes of contexts . He is in that state from which the ex­
perimenter started: unable to distinguish contexts .
From the dog's point of view (consciously or unconsciously) , to
learn context is different from learning w1'lat to do when X is presented
and what to do when Y is presented. There is a discontinuous jump
from the one SOrt of learning to the other.
In passing , the reader may be i nterested to know some of the
supporting data that would favor the interpretation I am offering .
First , the dog did not show psychotic or neurotic behavior at the
beginning of the experiment when he did not know how to discrimi­
nate, did not discriminate , and made frequent errors. This did not
"break down his discrimination" because he had none , JUSt as at the end
the discrimination could not be "broken down" because discrimination
was not in fact being asked for.
Second , a naive dog , offered repeated situations in which some X
sometimes means that he is to exhibit behavior A and at other times
means that he should exhibit behavior B , will settle down to guessing.
The naive dog has not been taught not to guess; that is, he has not been
taught that the contexts of life are such that guessing is inappropriate.
Such a dog will settle down to reflecting the approximate frequencies
of appropriate response. That is, if the stimulus object in 30 percent of
cases means A and in 70 percent means B , then the dog will settle down
• This exttemely anthropomorphic phrasing is, I claim, not less "objective" than the ad hoc abstrac­
tion "discrimination . "
1 70
to exhibiting A in 30 percent of the cases and B in 70 percent . (He will
not do what a good gambler would do, namely, exhibit B in all cases. )
Third, if the animals are taken away outside the lab , and if the
reinforcements and stimuli are administered from a distance--in the
form , for example, of electric shocks carried by long wires lowered from
booms (borrowed from Hollywood)--t hey do not develop symptoms.
The shocks , after all , are only of the magnitude of pain that any animal
might experience on pushing through a small briar patch; they do not
become coercive except in the context of the lab, in which other details of
the lab (its smell , the experimental stand on which the animal is sup­
ported, and so on) become ancillary stimuli that mean to the animal that
this is a context in which it must continue to be "right . " That the animal
learns about the nature of laboratory experiment is certainly true, and
the same may be said of the graduate student . The experimental subject ,
whether human or animal , is in the presence of a barrage of context
A convenient indicator of logical typing is the reinforcement sys­
a given item in our description of behavior will respond .
Simple actions apparently respond to reinforcement applied according to
the rules of operant conditioning . But ways of organizing simple actions,
which in our descriptions of behavior we might call "guessing , " "discrim­
ination, " "play, " "exploration , " "dependency," "crime, " and the like,
are of different logical type and do not obey the simple reinforcement
rules . The Pavlovian dog could never even be offered affirmative rein­
forcement for perceiving the change of context because the contrary
learning which preceded was so deep and effective.
In the Pavlovian instance , the dog fails to transcend the jump in
logical type from "context for discrimination" to "context for guessing . "
In contrast , let us consider a case in which an animal achieved a
similar jump. At the Oceanic Institute in Hawai i , a female dolphin
(Stena bredanensis) had been trained to expect the sound of the trainer's
whistle to be followed by food and to expect that if she later repeated
what she was doing when the whistle blew, she would again hear the
whistle and receive food . This animal was being used by the trainers to
demonstrate to the public "how we train porpoises . " ;; "When she enters
• "Porpoise" is circus slang for any performing dolphin.
1 ,11.1 1
the exhibition tank, I shall watch her and when she does something I want
her to repeat , I will blow the whistle and she will be fed. " She would
then repeat her "something" and be again reinforced. Three repetitions
of this sequence were enough for the demonstration, and the dolphin
was sent offstage to wait for the next performance two hours later. She
had learned some simple rules that related her actions , the whistle, the
exhibition tank, and the trainer into a pattern, a contextual structure, a
set of rules for how to put the information together.
But this pattern was fitted only for a single episode in the exhi­
bition tank. Because the trainers wanted to show again and again how
they teach , the dolphin would have to break the simple pattern to deal
with the class of such episodes. There was a larger context of contexts and
that would put her in the wrong . At the next performance, the trainer
again wanted to demonstrate "operant conditioning , " and to do thi s , she
(the trainer) had to pick on a different piece of conspicuous behavior.
When the dolphin came on stage, she again did her "something ," but
she got no whistle. The trainer waited for the next piece of conspicuous
behavior , perhaps a tail flap , which is a common expression of annoy­
ance. This behavior was then reinforced and repeated .
But the tail flap was , of course, not rewarded in the third perfor­
mance. Finally , the dolphin learned to deal with the context of contexts
by offering a different or new piece of conspicuous behavior whenever she
came onstage.
All this had happened in the free natural history of the rela­
tionship between dolphin and trainer and audience , before I arrived in
Hawai i . I saw that what was happening required learning of a higher
logical type than usual , and at my suggestion, the sequence was repeated
experimentally with a new animal and carefully recorded . "" The learning
schedule for the experimental training was carefully planned: the animal
would experience a series of learning sessions , each lasting from 10 to 20
minutes. The animal would never be rewarded for behavior which had
been rewarded in the previous session.
Two points from the experimental sequence must be added:
First , it was necessary (in the trainer's judgment) to break the
* Described in K. Pryor, R. Haag, and ] . O'Reilly, "Deutero-Learning in a Roughtooth porpoise
(Steno bredanenJiJ)," U . S . Naval Ordinance Test Station . China Lake, NOTS TP 4270; and further
discussed in my StepJ to an Ecology of Mind, pp. 276-277.
rul es of the experiment many times. The experience of being in the
wrong was so disturbing to the dolphin that in order to preserve the
rel ationship between her and her trainer (i . e. , the context of context of
context) , it was necessary to give many reinforcements to which the por­
p oise was not entitled. Unearned fish .
Second , each of the first fourteen sessions was characterized by
many futile repetitions of whatever behavior had been reinforced in the
immediately preceding session. Seemingly only by accident did the ani­
mal provide a piece of different behavior. In the time out between the
fourteenth and fifteenth sessions , the dolphin appeared to be much ex­
cited; and when she came onstage for the fifteenth session, she put on an
elaborate performance that included eight conspicuous pieces of behavior
of which four were new and never before observed in this species of
animal . From the animal's point of view, there is a jump , a disconti­
nuity, between the logical types.
In all such cases, the step from one logical type to the next
higher is a step from information about an event to information about a
class of events or fro?1 considering the class to considering the class of
classes. Notably, in the case of the dolphin, it was impossible for her to
learn from a single experience, whether of success or failure , that the
context was one for exhibiting a new behavior . The lesson about context
could only have been learned from comparative information about a
sample of contexts differing among themselves , in which her behavior
and the outcome differed from instance to instance. Within such a
varied class , a regularity became perceptible , and the apparent contra­
diction could be transcended . The case of the dog would have involved a
similar step , but the dog did not have a chance to learn that this was a
situation for guesswork.
Much can be learned from a single instance, but not certain
thi ngs about the nature of the larger sample, the class , of such trials or
expe riences. This is fundamental for logical typing, whether at the level
of B ertrand Russell's abstractions or at the level of animal learning in a
real world .
That these are not phenomena relevant only to the laboratory and
an imal learning experiments may be driven home by calling attention to
som e human confusions of thought . A number of concepts are freely
bandied about by layman and expert alike with an implicit error in their
logical typing. For example , there is "exploration . " It seems to puzzle
psychologists that the exploring tendencies of a rat cannot be simply ex­
tinguished by having the rat encounter boxes containing small electric
shocks. From such experiences, the rat will not learn not to put his nose
into boxes; he will only learn not to put his nose into the particular
boxes that contained electric shocks when he investigated them. In other
words , we are here up against a contrast between learni ng about the par­
ticular and learning about the general .
A little empathy will show that from the rat's point of view, it is
not desirable that he learn the general lesson . His experience of a shock
upon putting his nose into a box indicates to him that he did well to put
his nose into that box in order to gain the information that it contained
a shock. In fact , the "purpose" of exploration is , not to discover whether
exploration is a good thing , but to discover information about the ex­
plored . The larger case IS of a totally different nature from that of the
It is interesting to consider the nature of such a concept as
"crime. " We act as if crime could be extinguished by punishing parts of
what we regard as criminal actions , as if "crime" were the name of a sort
of action or of part of a sort of action. More correctly "crime," like "ex­
ploration , " is the name of a way of organizing actions . It is therefore un­
likely that punishing the act will extinguish the crime. In several thou­
sand years, the so-called science of criminology has not escaped from a
simple blunder in logical typing .
Be that as it may, there is a very profound difference between a
serious attempt to change the characterological state of an organism and
trying to change that organism's particular actions . The latter is rela­
tively easy; the former, profoundly difficult. Paradigmatic change is as
difficult as-indeed is of the same nature as-change in epistemology.
(For an elaborate study of what seems to be necessary to make charac­
terological changes in human criminals, the reader is referred to a recent
book, Sane Asylum, by Charles Hampden-Turner. *) It would seem t:O be
almost a first requirement of such deep training that the particular act
for which the convict was being punished when in jail should not be the
main focus of the training .
Charles Hampden-Turner,
Sane Asylum (San Francisco: San Francisco Book Co. , 1976).
A third concept of the class which is commonly misunderstood
by wrong attribution of logical typing is "play. " The given acts that
constitute play in a given sequence may , of course, occur in the same
persons or animals in other sOrts of sequence. What is characteristic of
"play" is that this is a name for contexts in which the constituent acts
have a different sort of relevance and organization from that which they
would have had in non-play. It may even be that the essence of play lies
in a partial denial of the meanings that the actions would have had in
other situations. It was from a recognition that mammals recognize play
that I moved forward twenty years ago to a recognition that animals (in
that case, river otters) classifY their types of interchange and therefore are
subject to the sorts of pathology generated in the Pavlovian dog who is
punished for a failure to recognize a change of context or the criminal
who is made to suffer for particular acts when he or she should be suffer­
ing for particular ways of organizing action. From observation of play in
river otters, I went on to study similar classi fications of behavior in
human beings , finally arriving at the notion that certain symptoms of
human pathology called �chizophrenia were, in fact, also the outcome of
maltreatments of logical typing , which we called double binds.
In this section, I have approached the matter of hierarchy in
mental phenomena from the aspect of coding. But hierarchy could
equally well have been demonstrated from criterion 4, which deals with
circular chains of determination. The relationship between the character­
istics of a component and the characteristics of t he system as a whole as
it circles back on itself, is equally a matter of hierarchical organization .
I want to suggest here that the history of civilization's long flir­
tation with the notion of circular cause would seem to be shaped by the
partial fascination and partial terror associated with the matter of logical
typing . It was noted in Chapter 2 (section 1 3) that logic is a poor model
of cause and effect. I suggest that it is the attempt to deal with life in
logical terms and the compulsive nature of that attempt which produce
in us the propensity for terror when it is even hi nted that such a logical
approach might break down .
In Chapter 2 , I argued that the very simple buzzer circuit , if
spelled out onto a logical map or model , presents contradiction: If the
buzzer circuit is closed , then the armature is attracted by the elec­
tromagnet. If the armature moves , attracted by the electromagnet, the
attraction ceases, and the armarure is then not attracted . This cycle of if
. . then relations in the world of cause is disruptive of any cycle of if
. . then relations in the world of logic unless time is introduced into
logic. The disruption is formally similar to the paradox of Epimenides.
We humans seem to wish that our logic were absolute. We seem
to act on the assumption that it is so and then panic when the slightest
overtone that it is not so, or might not be sO', is presented .
I t is as if the tight coherence of the logical brain, even i n persons
who notoriously think with a great deal of muddleheadedness , must still
be sacrosanct . When it is shown to be not so coherent , the individuals or
cultures dash precipitately, like Gadarene swine, into complexities of su­
pernaturalism. In order to escape the million metaphoric deaths depicted
in a universe of circles of causation, we are eager to deny the simple real­
ity of ordinary dying and to build fantasies of an afterworld and even of
In truth , a breach in the apparent coherence of our mental logi­
cal process would seem to be a sort of death. I encountered this deep no-.
tion over and over again in my dealings with schizophrenics , and the no­
tion may be said to be basic to the double bind theory that I and my
colleagues at Palo Alto proposed some twenty years ago . " I am propos­
ing here that the hint of death is present in every biological circuit
To conclude this chapter, I shall mention some of the potential­
ities of minds that exhibit these six criteria. First of all, there are twO
characteristics of mind that may be mentioned together, both of which
are made possible by the criteria I have cited . These two closely related
characteristics are autonomy and death.
Autonomy-literally control of the self, from the Greek autos (self)
and nomos (a law)--is provided by the recursive structure of the system.
Whether or not a simple machine with a governor can control or be con­
trolled by itself may be disputed , but imagine more loops of information . .
and effect added on top of the simple circuit . What will be the content
in t�
1830s. This book is now available as Percellats Narrative and shows how the schizophrenic's world IS
totally structured in double bind terms. (John Perceval . Penellats Narrative: A Patient's A ccount of His "
Psychosis. 1 830-32. Gregory Bateson, ed. Stanford . Calif. : Stanford U niversity Press. 1 96 1 . )
* I was lucky enough at that time to obtain a copy of John Perceval"s account of his psychosis
n o(
MThln ANn N A Tl J R F
of the signal material carried by these loops? The answer, of course, is
that these loops will carry messages about the behavior of the whole sys­
tem . In a sense, the original simple circuit already contained such infor­
mation Cit's going too fast" ; "it's going too slow"), but the next level
will carry such information as " the correction of 'it's going too fast' is
not fast enough , " or "the correction of 'it's going too fast' is excessive. "
That is, the messages become messages about the previous lower level .
From this to autonomy is a very shoft step.
With regard to death, the possibility for death follows first from
criterion 1 , that the entity be made of multiple parts . I n death , these
parts are disassembled or randomized. But it arises also from criterion 4 .
Death is the breaking up of the circuits and , with that , the destruction
of autonomy.
In addition to these two very profound characteristics, the sort of
system that I call mind is capable of purpose and choice by way of its
self-corrective possibilities. It is capable of either steady state or runaway
or some mixture of these. It is influenced by "maps," never by territory,
and is therefore limited by the generalization that its receipt of informa­
tion will never prove anything about the world or about itself. As I stated
in Chapter 2 , science never proves anything.
Beyond this, the system will learn and remember, it will build
up negentropy, and it will do so by the playing of stochastic games
called empiricism or trial and error. It will store energy. It will inevitably
be characterized by the fact that all messages are of some logical type or
other, and so it will be dogged by the possibilities of error in logical
typing . Finally, the system will be capable of uniting with other similar
systems to make still larger wholes.
In conclusion , two questions may be raised: Will the system be
capa ble of some SOft of aesthetic preference? Will the system be capable
of consciousness?
With regard to aesthetic preference , it seems to me that the an­
SWer could be affirmative. It is conceivable that such systems would be
able to recognize characteristics similar to their own in other systems
th ey might encounter. It is conceivable that we may take the six criteria
as criteria of life and may guess that any entity exhibiting these charac­
teristics will set a value (plus or minus) on other systems exhibiting the
OUtward and visible signs of similar characteristics. Is our reason for ad127
i I
miring a daisy the fact that it shows-in its form , in its growth , in
coloring , and in its death-the symptoms of being alive? Our
tion for it is to that extent an appreciation of its similarity to ourselves.
With regard to consciousness, the matter is more obscure.
this book, nothing has been said about cOffiiciousness except to note
in the business of perception , the processes of perception are not
scious but that its products may be conscious. When consciousness is
in this sense , it would appear that the phenomenon is somehow
to the business of logical types to which we have given a gooo deal of
tention. However, I do not know of any material really connecting
phenomena of consciousness to more primitive or simpler
and have not attempted to do so in the present work.
If they be two, they two are so
As stiffe twin compasses are two;
Thy soule, the fixf foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if th' other doe.
A nd though if in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
A nd growes et-e ct, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like fh ' other foot, obliquely runne.
Thy firmnes drawes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begunne.
-JOHN DON N E , "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning"
In Chapter 3 , I considered the working together of two
eyes to give binocular vision . From the combined vision
of the two organs, you get a species of information that
you could get from a single eye only by usi n g special
sorts of collateral knowledge (e. g . , about the overlap­
ping of things in the visual field); you get , in fact, depth perception.
This is information about a different dimension (as the physicist would
call it) or information of a different logical type (as I would call it).
In this chapter , in addition to talking about double description ,
I want to examine the subject of boundaries . What limits the units,
What limits "things , " and above all , what, if anything , limits the self?
Is there a line or sort of bag of which we can say that " inside"
that li ne or interface is "me" and "outside" is the environment or some
other person? By what right do we make these distinctions?
It is clear (though usually ignored) that the language of any an­
swer to that question is not, in the end, a language of space or time. "In­
side" and "outside" are not appropriate metaphors for inclusion and
exclusion when we are speaking of the self.
The mind contains no things , no pigs , no people, no midwife
toads, or what have you , only ideas (i . e . , news of difference), informa­
tion about "things" in quotes , always in quotes . Similarly , the mind
contains no time and no space, only ideas of "time" and "space. " It
follows that the boundaries of the individual , if real at all , will be, not
spatial boundaries, but something more like the sacks that represent sets
in set theoretical diagrams or the bubbles that come out of the mouths
of the characters in comic strips.
My daughter, now aged ten, had her birthday last week. The
tenth birthday is an important one because it represents a breakthrough
into two-digit numbers. She remarked , half serious and half in j est, that
she did not "feel any different. "
The boundary between the ninth year and the tenth year was not
real in the sense of being or representing a change in feeling . But one
could perhaps make Venn diagrams or bubbles to classify propositions
about various ages.
In addition, I want to focus on that genus of receipt of information
(or call it learning) which is learning about the "self" in a way that may
result in some "change" in the "self. " Especially , I will look at changes
in the boundaries of the self, perhaps at the discovery that there are
boundaries or perhaps no center . And so on .
How do we learn those learnings or wisdoms (or follies) by which
"we ourselves"-our ideas about self-seem to be changed?
I began to think about such matters a long time ago, and here
are two notions that I developed before World War II , when I was
working out what I called the "dynamics" or " mechanics" of Iatmul cul­
ture on the Sepik River in New Guinea.
One notion was that the unit of interaction and the unit of charac­
terological learning (not just acquiring the so-called "response" when the
buzzer sounds , but the becoming ready for such automatisms) are the same.
Learning the contexts of life is a matter that has to be discussed, not
internally , but as a matter of the external relationship between two crea­
tures. And relationship is always a product of double description.
It is correct (and a great improvement) to begin to think of the
two parties to the interaction as two eyes , each giving a monocular view
of what goes on and , together , giving a binocular view in depth. This
double view is the relationship .
Relationship is not internal to the single person. It is nonsense
to talk about "dependency" or "aggressiveness" or "pride," and so on .
All such words have their roots in what happens between persons , not in
some something-or-other inside a person.
No doubt there is a learning in the more particular sense. There
are changes in A and changes in B which correspond to the dependency­
succorance of the relationship . But the relationship comes first; it pre­
Only if you hold on tight to the primacy and priority of rela­
tionship can you avoid dormitive explanations . The opium does not con­
tain a dormitive principle , and the man does not contain an aggressive
The New Guinea material and much that has come later, taught
me that I will get nowhere by explaining prideful behavior, for example,
by referring to an individual's "pride. " Nor can you explain aggression
by referring to instinctive (or even learned) "aggressiveness . " * Such an
explanation , which shifts attention from the interpersonal field to a facti­
tious inner tendency, principle, instinct, or whatnot, is, I suggest , very
great nonsense which only hides the real questions.
If you want to talk about, say, "pride, " you must talk about two
persons or two groups and what happens between them. A is admired by
B; B's admiration is conditional and may turn to contempt. And so on .
You can then define a particular species of pride by reference to a partic­
ular pattern of interaction.
The same is true of "dependency," "courage , " "passive-aggres­
sive behavior, " "fatalism ," and the like. All characterological adjectives
are to be reduced or expanded to derive their definitions from patterns of
interchange, i . e . , from combinations of double description.
As binocular vision gives the possibility of a new order of infor­
mation (about depth) , so the understanding (conscious and unconscious)
of behavior through relationship gives a new logical type of learning. (In
• Note. in passing, how easy is the descent from sociobiology t o paranoia and, perhaps , how easy is
the descent from violent repudiation of sociobiology to paranoia-alas.
Steps to an Ecology of Mind, I have called this Learning II , or deutero-learn_
ing . )
The whole matter i s a little difficult to grasp because w e have
been taught to think of learning as a two-unit affair: The teacher
"taught , " and the student (or the experimental animal) "learned . " But
that lineal model became obsolete when we learned about cybernetic cir­
cuits of interaction . The minimum unit of interaction contains three '
components. (In this , the old experimenters were right, in spite of their
blindness to differences in logical levels. )
Call the three components stimul/iS, response, and reinforcement. Of
these three , the second is the reinforcement of the first, and the third i s
reinforcement of the second. Response by learner reinforces the stimulus
provided by teacher. And so on.
Pride is conditional admiration provided by spectator, plus re­
sponse by performer, pillS more admiration, plus acceptance of admira­
tion . . . . (Cut the sequence where you will ! ) Of course , there are
hundreds of ways in which the components of the contexts of learning
may be interlinked, and , correspondingly , hunqreds of characterological
"traits , " of which hundreds the experimenters have looked at about half
a dozen-strange.
I am saying that there is a learning of context, a learning that is
different from what the experimenters see. And that this learning of con­
text springs out of a species of double description which goes with rela­
tionship and interaction. Moreover , like all themes of contextual learn­
ing , these themes of relationship are self-validating . Pride feeds on
admiration. But because the admiration is conditional-and the proud
man fears the contempt of the other-it follows that there is nothing
which the other can do to diminish the pride. If he shows contempt, he
equally reinforces the pride.
Similarly , we can expect self-validation in other examples of the
same logical typing. Exploration, play , crime , and the Type A behavior
of the psychosomatic studies of hypertension are equally difficult to ex­
tinguish . Of course, all these are not categories of behavior; they are cat­
egories of contextual organization of behavior.
In summary, this chapter adds important generalizations. We
now see that the mechanics of relationship are a special case of double
1 34
descriptI On and that the unit of behavioral sequence contains at least
th ree components, maybe many more.
The old Greek advice "know thyself" may carry many levels of
mystic insight, but in addition to these aspects of the matter, there is a
very simple, universal and , indeed, pragmatic aspect. It is surely so that
all outside knowledge whatsoever must derive in part from what is called
The Buddhists claim that the self is a sort of fiction . If so, our
be to identify the species of fiction . But for the moment , I shall
accept the "self" as a heuristic concept , a ladder useful in climbing but
perhaps to be thrown away or left behind at a later stage.
I reach out with my hand in the dark, and it touches the electric
light switch . "I have found it. That's where it is"; and " ] can now turn
it on .
But I did not need to know the position of the switch or the
position of my hand to be able to turn the light on . The mere sensory
report of contact between hand and switch would have been enough . I
could have been in total error in my "that's where it is , " and still , with
my hand on the switch , I could turn it on.
The question is: Where is my hand? This item of self-knowledge
has a very special and peculiar relation to the business of searching for
the switch or knowing where the switch is .
Under hypnosis , for example, I could have believed that my
hand was above my head when , in fact , it was stretched horizontally
forward . In such a case , I would have located the switch up there, above
my head . I might even have taken my success in turning on the l ight as
a verification of my discovery that the switch was "above my head . "
We project our opinions of self onto the outer world , and often
We can be wrong about the self and still move and act and interact with
OU f frie nds successfully but in terms of false opinions .
What, then, is this "self"? What, in the context of the present
Chapter, is added to information by obeying the old advice "know thy­
self " ?
Let me start again. Suppose that I " know" that my hand is above
my head and that I "know" the light switch is at shoulder height . Let us
suppose that I am right about the switch but wrong about my hand . In
the search for the switch , I shall never put my hand where the switch is .
It would be better if I did not "know" the position of the switch. I
would then perhaps find it by some random movement of trial and error.
What , then, are the rules for self-knowledge? Under what cir­
cumstances is it (pragmatically) better to have no such knowledge than
to have erroneous opinions? Under what circumstances is self-knowledge
pragmatically necessary ? Most people seem to live without any answers
to questions of this sort. Indeed, they seem to live without even asking
such questions.
Let us approach the whole matter with less epistemological arro­
gance. Does a dog have self-knowledge? Is it possible that a dog with no
self-knowledge can chase a rabbit? Is the whole mass of injunctions that
tell us to know ourselves just a tangle of monstrous illusions built up to
compensate for the paradoxes of consciousness?
If we throw away the notion that the dog is one creature and the
rabbit another and consider the whole rabbit-dog as a single system, we
can now ask: What redundancies must exist in this system so that this
part of the system will be able to chase that part? And , perhaps , be un­
able to not chase it?
The answer now appears to be quite different: The only informa­
tion (i . e . , redundancy) that is necessary in these cases is relational . Did
the rabbit, by running , tell the dog to chase it? In the matter of turning
on the light, when the hand ("my" hand?) touched the switch, the nec­
essary information about relationship between hand and switch was cre­
ated; and turning on the switch became possible without collateral infor­
mation about me, my hand , or the switch.
The dog can invite to a game of "chase me. " He goes down with
his chin and throat to the ground and reaches forward , with his front
legs, from elbows to pads, pressed against the ground . His eyes look up,
moving in their sockets without any movement of the head. The hind
legs are bent under the body ready to spring forward . This posture is fa­
miliar to anybody who has ever played with a dog. The existence of such
a signal proves the dog able to communicate at, at least , two Russellian
levels or logical types.
1 �r-;
Here, however , I am concerned only with those aspects of play
which exemplify the rule that two descriptions are better than one.
The game and the creation of the game must be seen as a single
phenomenon , and indeed , it is subjectively plausible to say that the
sequence is really playable only so long as it retains some elements of the
creative and unexpected . If the sequence is totally known , it is ritual, al­
th ough perhaps still character forming . " It is rather simple to see a first
level of discovery by human player, A, who has a finite number of alter­
native actions. These are evolutionary sequences , with natural selection
of, not i tems, but patterns of items of action. A will try various actions on
B and find that B will only accept certain contexts . That is to say, A
must either precede certain actions with certain others or place certain of
his own actions into time frames (sequences of interaction) that are
preferred by B . A "proposes" ; B "disposes. "
A superficially miraculous phenomenon is the invention of play
between members of contrasting mammalian species. I have watched
this process in interaction between our keeshond and our tame gibbon,
and it was quite clear that the dog responded in her normal way to an
unexpected tweak of the fur. The gibbon would come suddenly out of
the rafters of the porch roof and lightly attack. The dog would give
chase, the gibbon would run away, and the whole system would move
from the porch to our bedroom , which had a ceiling instead of exposed
rafters and beams. Confined to the floor, the retreating gibbon would
turn on the dog, who would retreat , running out ontO the porch. The
gibbon would then go up into the roof, and the whole sequence would
start over again, to be repeated many times and evidently enjoyed by
both players.
Discovering or inventing games with a dolphin in the water is a
very similar experience. I had decided to give the elderly female Tursiops
no clues about how to deal with me other than the "stimulus" of my
presence in the water. So I sat , with arms folded , on the steps leading
down into the water. The dolphin came over and stationed herself along­
sid e me, about one or two inches away from contact with my side . From
tim e to time, there would be accidental physical contact between us due
to movements of the water. These contacts were seemingly of no interest
• If we define play as the establishment and exploration of relationship. then greeting and ritual are
the affirmation of relationship. Bur obviously mixtures of affirmation and exploration are common .
to the animal. After perhaps two minutes, she moved away and slowly
swam around me; and a few moments later, I felt something pushing in
under my right arm . This was the dolphin's beak, and I was confronted
with a problem: how to give the animal no clues about how to deal with
me. My planned strategy was impossible.
I relaxed my right arm and let her push her beak under it. In
seconds , I had a whole dolphin under my arm . She then bent around in
front of me to a position in which she was sitting in my lap. From this
position, we went on to a few minutes of swimming and playing
together .
Next day, I followed the same sequence but did not wait out the
period of minutes while she was alongside. I stroked her back with my
hand . She immediately corrected me, swimming a short distance away ,'
and then circling me and giving me a flick with the leading edge of her
tail fluke, no doubt an act that seemed to her to be gentle. After that"
she went to the far end of the tank and stayed there.
Again , these are evolutionary sequences , and it is important to
see clearly just what is evolved. To describe the cross-species play of dog- "
and-gibbon or man-and-dolphin as an evolution of items of behavior
would be incorrect because no new items of behavior are generated . In­
deed , for each creature in turn , there is no evolution of new contexts of
action. The dog is still unchanged dog; the gibbon is still gibbon; the
dolphin, dolphin; the man, man. Each retains its own "character"-its
0'Yn organization of the perceived universe-and yet , clearly something
has happened. Patterns of interaction have been generated or discovered,
and these patterns have, at least briefly, endured. In other words, there
has been a natural selection of patterns of interaction. Certain patterns
survived longer than others .
There has been an evolution offitting together. With minimum
change in dog or gibbon, the system dog-gibbon has become simpler- ,
more internally integrated and consistent .
There is thus a larger entity, call it A plus B , and that larger en­
tity, in play , is achieving a process for which I suggest that the correct
name is practice. This is a learning process in which the system A plus B .
receives no new information from outside, only from within the system.
The interaction makes information about parts of A available to parts of ,
B and vhe versa. There has been a change in boundaries.
Let us place these data in a wider theoretical frame. Let us do a
ction, seeking other cases which will be anologous to play in
the sense of belonging under the same rule.
Notice that play, as a label , does not limit or define the acts that
m ake up play. Play is applicable only to certain broad premises of the
in terchang e . In ordinary parlance, "play" is not the name of an act or ac­
tion; it is the name of aframe for action. We may expect , then , that play
is not subject to the regular rules of reinforcement. Indeed , anybody
who has tried to stop some children playing knows how it feels when his
effor ts simply get included in the shape of the game.
So to find other cases under the same rule (or chunk of theory),
we look for integrations of behavior which a) do not define the actions
which are their content; and b) do not obey the ordinary reinforcement
Two cases come immediately to mind: "exploration" and
"crime. " Others worth thinking about are "Type A behavior" (which the
psychosomatic doctors regard as partly etiological for essential hyperten­
sion) , "paranoia, " "schizophrenia, " and so on .
Let us examine "exploration" to see wherein it is a context for, or
a product of, some sort of double description .
First, exploration (and crime and play and all the other words of
this class) is a primary description, verbal or nonverbal , of the self: "I
explore . " B ut what is explored is not merely "my outside world, " or " the
outside world as I live it. "
Second , exploration is self-validating, whether the outcome is
pleasant or unpleasant for the explorer. If you try to teach a rat to not­
explore by having him poke his nose into boxes containing electric
shock, he will , as we saw in the last chapter, go on doing this, presum­
ably needi ng to know which boxes are safe and which unsafe. In this
sense, expl oration is always a success .
Thus, exploration is not only self-validating; it also seems in
human beings to be addictive. I once knew a great mountain climber,
Geoffrey Young, who climbed the north face of the Matterhorn with
only one l eg . (The other had been amputated in World War I . ) And I
knew a long-distance runner , Leigh Mallory, whose bones are somewhere
within 200 feet of the top of Mount Everest. These climbers give us a
hint about exploration. Geoffrey Young used to say that the not-listening
1 39
to the weak and self-pitying complaints and pains of th e �)oly was
among the main disciplines of the climber-even, I think , al Q�"g the
satisfactions of climbing . The victory over self.
Such changing of "self" is commonly described as a " v�tory , "
and such lineal words as "discipline, " and "self-control" are
used. Of
course these are mere supernatural isms-and probably
t l � (Oxic at
that. What happens is much more like an incorporation or rn�rrlage of
ideas about the world with ideas about self.
This brings up another example, traditionally familiar t Q ,nthro­
pologists: totemism .
For many peoples , their thinking about the social sys[em of ::
which they are the parts is shaped (literally in-formed) by an anaM�y be­
tween that system of which they are the parts and the large r t.'G1logical
and biological system in which the animals and plants and the f'>evple are
all parts. The analogy is partly exact and partly fanciful and partly made
real-validated-by actions that the fantasy dictates. The fan t: a�Y then
becomes morphogenetic; that is, it becomes a determinant of t he shape
of the society.
This analogy between the social system and the natu ral ,,·odd is
the religion that anthropologists call totemism. As analog y , it 15 both
more appropriate and more healthy than the analogy, fam i l i ar (0 us, ,
which would liken people and society to nineteenth-century rnac�ines.
In its late and partly secular form , totemism is familiar t o ,he oc ­
cidental world as the premise of heraldry . Families or patr i l i t)e,ll l ines
claim ancient dignity by depicting animals on their heraldic Shields or
totem poles , which thus become genealogical diagrams by th e (l,rubin­
ing of the beasts of different ancestral lines. Such representati on s l fam­
ily status in a mythological hierarchy often aggrandize self or o,vn de­
scent at the expense of other family lines . As this mo re F(ideful
component of totemism increases , the larger view of relation s h ip CO the
natural world is likely to be forgotten or reduced to a mere purl' My
own family has a crest, granted in the eighteenth century . It is , of
course, a bat's wing . Similarly , my father's mother's Lowland S e ol ' fam­
ily, whose name was Aikin, had an oak tree emblazoned o n thei r sil140
verware. In their dialect, it is proverbial that "from little aikins [i.e. ,
ac or ns} big aiks grow . " And so on .
What seems to happen in such conventional secularization is a
attention away from the relationship to focus one end, on the ob­
sh ift
jects or persons who were related. This is a common pathway leading to
vulgarized epistemology and to a loss of that insight or enlightenment
whi ch was gained by setting the view of nature beside the view of fam­
ily .
However , there are still a few practicing totemites, even in the
ran ks of professional biology. To watch Professor Konrad Lorenz teach a
class is to discover what the Aurignacian cavemen were doing when they
painted those living , moving reindeer and mammoths on the sides and
ceilings of their caves . Lorenz's posture and expressive movement, his
kinesics , change from moment to moment according to the nature of the
animal he is talking about. At one moment, he is a goose; a few minutes
later, a cichlid fish . And so on. He will go to the blackboard and
quickly draw the creature, perhaps a dog , alive and hesitating between
attack and retreat. Then a moment's work with eraser and chalk, a
change in the back of the neck and the angle of the tai l , and the dog is
now clearly going to attack.
He gave a series of lectures in Hawaii and devoted the last of
these to problems of the philosophy of science. When he spoke of the
Einsteinian universe , his body seemed to twist and contort a little in
empathy with that abstraction.
And mysteriously , like the Aurignacians , he is unable to draw a
human figure. His attempts and theirs result only in stickmen. What
totemism teaches about the self is profoundly nonvisual .
Lorenz's empathy with animals gives him an almost unfair ad­
vantage over other zoologists . He can , and surely does , read much from
a (conscious or unconscious) comparison of what he sees the animal do
with what it feels like to do the same. (Many psychiatrists use the same
trick to discover the thoughts and feelings of their patients . ) Two di­
verse descriptions are always better than one .
Today , we can stand back from the double description that is the
native totem ism of aboriginal Australia and from the totem ism of Euro­
pean heraldry and look at the process of degeneration. We can see how
eg o displaced enlightenment , how the family animals became crests and
14 1
banners , and how the relations between the animal prototypes in natu re
got forgotten.
(ToJay, we pump a little natural history into children along
with a little "art" so that they will forget their animal and ecological na­
ture and the aesthetics of being alive and will grow up to be good
businessmen . )
There is , by the way , another pathway of degeneracy that be­
comes visible in the comparative survey we are discussing. This is
Aesop-ation of natural history . In this process , it is not pride and ego
but entertainment that replaces rel igion . The natural history is no longer
even a pretense of looking at real creatures; it becomes a cluster of
stories , more or less sardonic, more or less moral, more or less amusing .
The holistic view that I am calling religion splits t o give either weapons
to ego or toys to fancy .
We are so accustomed to the universe in which we live and to
our puny methods of thinking about it that we can hardly see that it is ,
for example, surprising that abduction is possible, that it is possible to
describe some event or thing (e .g . , a man shaving in a mirror) and then . .
to look around the world for other cases to fit the same rules that we
devised for our description . We can look at the anatomy of a frog and
then look around to find other instances of the same abstract relations re­
curring in other creatures , including, in this case, ourselves .
This lateral extension of abstract components of description is .
called abduction, and I hope the reader may see it with a fresh eye.
very possibility of abduction is a little uncanny , and the phenomenon
enormously more widespread than he or she might, at first thought
have supposed .
Metaphor , dream , parable, allegory, the whole of art , the whole .
of science, the whole of religion , the whole of poetry, toremism (as at.:
ready mentioned) , the organization of facts in comparative anatomy-all ;
these are instances or aggregates of instances of abduction, within the
human mental sphere.
But obviously , the possibility of abduction extends to the very
rootS also of physical science, Newton's analysis of the solar system and
the periodic table of the elements being historic examples.
Conversely, all thought would be totally impossible in a universe
abduction was not expectable.
Here I am concerned only with that aspect of the universal fact
which is relevant to the order of change that is the subject
of this chapter. I am concerned with changes in basic epistemology,
character, self, and so on. Any change in our epistemology will involve
shifting our whole system of abductions. We must pass through the
threat of that chaos where thought becomes impossible.
Every abduction may be seen as a double or multiple description
object or event or sequence. If I examine the social organization
of an Australian tribe and the sketch of natural relations upon which the
totem ism is based, I can see these two bodies of knowledge as related ab­
ductively, as both falling under the same rules. In each case, it is as­
sumed that certain formal characteristics of one component will be mir­
rored in the other.
This repetition has certain very effective implications . It carries
injunctions , for the people concerned . Their ideas about nature, however
fantastic , are supported by their social system; conversely , the social sys­
tem is supported by their ideas of nature. It thus becomes very difficult
for the people, so doubly guided , to change their view either of nature
or of the social system . For the benefits of stability, they pay the price of
rigidity, living , as all human beings must, in an enormously complex
network of mutually supporting presuppositions. The converse of this
statement is that change will require various sortS of relaxation or con­
tradiction within the system of presuppositions.
What seems to be the case is that there are, in nature and corre­
spondingly reflected in our processes of thought, great regions within
which abductive systems obtain. For example, the anatomy and physiol­
ogy of the body can be considered as one vast abductive system with its
Own coherence within itself at any given time. Similarly , the environ­
ment within which the creature lives is another such internally coherent
abductive system , although this system is not immediately coherent
with that of the organism .
For change to occur, a double requirement is imposed on the
new thing. It must fit the organism's internal demands for coherence,
and it must fit the external requirements of environment.
It thus comes about that what I have called double description
becomes double requirement or double specification . The possibilities for
change are twice fractionated . If the creature is to endure, change must
always occur in ways that are doubly defined . Broadly , the internal "t
requirements of the body will be conservative. Survival of the body, '
requires that not-tao-great disruption shall occur. In contrast, the chang_, ,'!
ing environment may require change in the organism and a sacrifice 0(,
In Chapter 6, we shall consider the resulting contrast between:
homology, which is the result of phylogenetic conservatism , and adapta- ,:
tion, which is the reward of change.
The expreJJion often used by Mr. Herbert Spencer of the Survival
and is sometimes equally convenient.
-<:HARLES DARWIN , On the Origin of Species, FIFTH EDITION .
Into this universe, and why not knowing
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly jl(JU!ing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I kn(JU! not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
-EDWARD FITZGERALD, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
of the
Fittest is m()f'e
It is a general assumption of this book that both genetic
change and the process called learning (including the
somatic changes induced by habit and environment) are
stochastic processes . In each case there is, I believe, a
stream of events that is random in certain aspects and in
each case there is a nonrandom selective process which causes certain of
the random components to "survive" longer than others. Without the
random , there can be no new thing.
I assume that in evolution the production of mutant forms is ei­
ther random
within whatever set of alternatives the status guo ante will
�errn it or that , if mutation be ordered , the criteria of that ordering are
I rrelevant
to the stresses of the organism . In accordance with orthodox
Illol ecular
genetic theory, I assume that the protoplasmic environment of
1 47
the DNA cannot direct changes in DNA which would be relevant to fit�
ting the organism to the environment or reducing internal stress . Many
factors-both physical and chemical-can alter the frequency of muta- '
tion , but I assume that the mutations so generated are not geared to the
particular stresses which the parent generation was under at the time
when the mutation was brought about. I shall even assume that muta­
tions produced by a mutagen are irrelevant to the physiological stress
generated within the cell by the mutagen itself.
Beyond that, I shall assume, as is now orthodox, that mutations,
so randomly generated, are stored in the mixed gene pool of the popula­
tion and that natural selection will work to eliminate those alternatives
which are unfavorable from the point of view of something like survival
and that this elimination will , on the whole, favor those alternatives
which are harmless or beneficial.
On the side of the individual , I similarly assume that the mental
processes generate a large number of alternatives and that there is a ,
selection among these determined by something like reinforcement.
Both for mutations and for learning , it is always necessary to ,
remember the potential pathologies of logical typing . What has survival
value for the individual may be lethal for the population or for the soci­
ety. What is good for a short time (the symptomatic cure) may be addie- i,:
tive or lethal over long time .
It was Alfred Russel Wallace who remarked in 1866 that the : ,
principle of natural selection is like that of the steam engine with a gov- '
ernor. I shall assume that this is indeed so and that both the process of
individual learning and the process of population shift under natural; "
selection can exhibit the pathologies of all cybernetic circuits:
oscillation and runaway.
In sum , I shall assume that evolutionary change and
change (including learning and thought) are fundamentally similar ,
both are stochastic in natute, although surely the ideas (in'
descriptive propositions , and so on) on which each process works are
totally different logical typing from the typing of ideas in the other
It is this tangle of logical typing that has led to so much
SlOn, controversy , and even nonsense about such matters as the ..
tance of acquired characteristics" and the legitimacy of invoking "mind"
an explanatory principle.
The whole matter has had a curious history. It was once intolera­
people to suggest that evolution could have a random com­
b le
pone nt. This was supposedly contrary co all that was known about adap­
tation and design and contrary CO any belief in a creator with mental
characteristics. Samuel Butler's criticism of The Origin 0/ SPecies was es­
sentially to accuse Darwin of excluding mind from among the relevant
expl anacory principles. Butler wanted to imagine a nonrandom mind at
work somewhere in the system and therefore preferred the theories of
Lam arck to those of Darwin. '*'
It turns out , however, that such critics were precisely wrong in
their choice of the correction they would apply to Darwinian theory.
Today, we see thought and learning (and perhaps somatic change) as
stochastic . We would correct the nineteenth-century thinkers, not by
adding a nonstochastic mind to the evolutionary process , but by propos­
ing that thought and evolution are alike in a shared stochasticism . Both
are mental processes in terms of the criteria offered in Chapter 4 .
We face , then, two great stochastic systems that are partly in in­
teraction and partly isolated from each other. One system is within the
individual and is called learning,· the other is immanent in heredity and
in populations and is called evolution. One is a matter of the single life­
time; the other is a matter of multiple generations of many individuals.
The task of this chapter is to show how these two stochastic sys­
tems, working at different levels of logical typing, fit together into a
single ongoing biosphere that could not endure if either somatic or gene­
tic change were fundamentally different from what it is.
The unity of the combined system is necessary.
A very large part of what can be said about the interlocking of
ev olu tion and somatic change is deductive. At the levels of theory that
\\Ie confront here, there are no observational data, and experimentation
• Strangely
, even in Butler's Evolulion. Old and New. there is very little evidence that Butler had
mUch empathy for the delicate thinking of Lamarck.
has not yet begun. But this is not surprising . There was, after all , al­
most no field evidence for natural selection until Kettlewell studied the
pale and melanic varieties of pepper moth (Biston betularia) in the 1930s.
In any case, the arguments against the hypothesis that acquired
characteristics are inherited are instructive and will serve to illustrate
several aspects of the tangled relationship between the two great stochas­
tic processes . There are three such arguments , of which only the third is
a. The first argument is that the hypothesis is to be discarded
for lack of empirical support. But experimentation in this field is incre­
dibly difficult and the critics ruthless, so the lack of evidence is not
surprising . It is not clear that if Lamarckian inheritance occurred either
in the field or even in the laboratory, it would be possible to recognize
b. The second and until recently the most cogent criticism was
August Weissmann's assertion in the 1890s that there is no com­
munication between soma and germ plasm. Weissmann was an extraordinarily
gifted German embryologist who , becoming nearly blind while still a
young man , devoted himself to theory . He noted that for many organ­
isms there was a continuity of what he called "germ plasm , " i . e . , of the
protoplasmic line from generation to generation, and that in each gener­
ation the phenotypic body or soma could be considered as branching off
from this germ plasm . From this insight he argued that there could be
no backward communication from the somatic branch to the main stem
which was the germ plasm .
Exercise of the right biceps will certainly strengthen that muscle
in an individual , but there is no known way in which news of that soma­
tic change could be carried to the sex cells of that individual . This criti­
cism , like the first , depends on argument from the fact of absence of
evidence--an unsure stone on which to step--and most biologists after
Weissmann have tended to make the argument deductive by assuming
that there is no imaginable way in which communication could occur be­
tween biceps and future gamete.
But that assumption does not look so safe today as it did twenty
years ago. If RNA can carry imprints of portions of DNA to other parts
1 50
of the cell and possibly to other parts of the body , then it is imaginable
that imprints of chemical changes in the biceps could be carried to the
germ plasm .
c. The final and , for me, the only convincing criticism is a
reductio ad absurdum , an assertion that if Lamarckian inheritance were
the rule or even at all common, the whole system of interlocking sto­
chastic processes would come to a halt.
I offer this criticism here not only in an attempt (probably futile)
to kill a never-guite-dead horse but also to illustrate the relations be­
tween the two stochastic processes . Imagine the following dialogue:
What exactly is claimed by Lamarckian theory? What do
you mean by "the inheritance of acquired characteristics"?
LAMARCKIAN: That a change in the body induced by environment will
be passed on to the offspring.
BIOLOGIST: Wait a minute, a "change" is to be passed on? What exactly
is to be passed from parent to offspring? A "change" is some sort
of abstraction, I suppose.
LAMARCKIAN: An effect of environment , for example, the nuptial pads of
the male midwife toad . ""
BIOLOGIST: I still don't understand. You surely do not mean that the en­
vironment made the nuptial pads.
LAMARCKIAN: No, of course not. The toad made them.
BIOLOGIST: Ah , so the toad knew in some sense or had the "potentiality"
for growing nuptial pads?
LAMARCKIAN: Something like that , yes. The toad could make nuptial
pads when forced to breed in water.
BIOLOGIST: Ah , he could adapt himself. Is that right? If he bred on
land, in the way normal to his species of toad, he made no nup­
tial pads. If in water, then he made pads just like all the other
sorts of toad . He had an option.
• Most species of toads mate in water, and during the mating period , the male clasps the female
with his arms from a position on her back. Perhaps "because" she is slippery, he has roughened black
pads on the dorsal sides of his hands in this season. In contrast, the midwife road mates on land and
has no such nuptial pads. In the years before World War I, Paul Kammerer, an Austrian scientist,
claimed to have demonstrated the famous inheritance of acquired characters by forcing midwife
toads ro mate in water. Under these circumstances , the male developed nuptial pads. It was claimed
that descendants of the male developed such pads, even on land.
15 1
But some of the descendants of the toad who made pads in
water made pads even on land. That's what I mean by the inheri­
tance of acquired characters.
BIOLOGIST: Ah , yes , I see. What was passed on was the loss of an op­
tion . The descendants could no longer breed normally on land.
That's fascinating.
LAMARCKIAN: You are willfully failing to understand.
BIOLOGIST: Perhaps. But I still do not understand what is supposedly
"passed on" or "inherited . " The claimed empirical fact is that
the descendants differed from the parent in lacking an option
which the parent had. But this is not the passing on of a resem­
blance, which the word inheritance would suggest. It is the pass­
ing on of a differenre. But the "difference" was not there to be
passed on. The parent toad, as I understand it, still had his op­
tions in good shape.
And so on .
The crux of this argument is the logical typing of the genetic
message that is supposed to be passed on. It is not good enough to say
vaguely that the nuptial pads are passed on, and there is no point in
claiming that the potentiality to develop nuptial pads is passed on
because that potentiality was characteristic of the parent toad before the
experiment began. ;«
Of course, it is not denied that the animals and to a lesser extent
the plants in this world often present the appearance which we might
expect in a world in which evolution had proceeded by pathways of
Lamarckian inheritance.
We shall see that this appearance is inevitable given (a) that wild
populations usually (perhaps always) are characterized by heterogeneous
(mixed up and diverse) gene pools, (b) that individual animals are capa­
ble of somatic changes which are in some way adaptive, and (c) that mu­
tation and the reshuffling of existing genes are random .
But this conclusion will follow only after the entropic economics
of somatic change has been compared with the entropic economics of
achieving the same phenotypic appearance by genetic determination .
Arthur Koestler, in The Case of the Midwife Toad (New York: Vintage Book s , 1973), records that
at least one wild toad of this species has been found with nuptial pads. So the necessary genetic
equipment is available. The evidential value of the experiment is seriously reduced by this finding.
In the imaginary dialogue, Lamarckian was silenced by the argu­
ment that the inheritance of acquired characteristics would be accom­
panied by loss of freedom to modify the individual body in response to
the demands of habit or environment. This generalization is not quite so
simply true. No doubt the substitution of genetic for somatic control
(regardless of the question of heredity) will always diminish the flexibil­
ity of the individual . The option of somatic change in that particular
characteristic will be wholly or partly lost. But the general question still
remains: Does it never pay to substitute genetic for somatic control? If
this were the case, the world would surely be a very different place from
that which we experience. Likewise, if Lamarckian inheritance were the
rule, the whole process of evolution and living would become tied up in
the rigidities of genetic determination . The answer must be between
these extremes , and lacking data that would untangle this matter , we
are driven to common sense and deductions from cybernetic principles.
Let me illustrate the whole matter by a discussion of use and
This old pair of concepts, which used to be central in discussions
of evolution, has almost dropped out of the argument, perhaps because
in this connection it is especially necessary to keep clear the logical typ­
ing of the various components of any hypothesis.
That the effects of use might contribute in some way to evolution
is not particularly mysterious. Nobody can deny that the biological
scene looks, at a first glance , as if the effects of use and disuse were
passed on from generation to generation . This, however, cannot be fitted
into what we know of the self-corrective and adaptive nature of somatic
change. The creatures would in very few generations lose all freedom of
somatic adjustment .
But to go beyond the crude Lamarckian position is to face dif­
ficulties with the logical typing of the parts of the hypothesis . I believe
these difficulties to be soluble . So far as use is concerned, it is not too
diffic ult to think of sequences in which natural selection might favor
those individuals whose genetic makeup would go along with the soma-
"Tell me, papa, why are the palm trees so
" [t's so that the giraffes may be able to eat
them, my child, for . . .
"But then, papa , why do the giraffes have
such long necks?"
. . . if the palm trees were quite small, the
giraffes would be in trouble (embarras­
sees) . "
if the giraffes had short necks, they
would be still more troub/ed. "
tic changes current among the individuals of the given population. The
somatic changes which accompany use are commonly (although not
al ways) adaptive, and therefore genetic control which would favor such
c hanges might be advantageous .
Under what circumstances does it pay, in terms of survival , to
substitute genetic for somatic control?
The price of such a shift is , as I have argued , a lack of flexibility,
b u t this lack must be spelled out more precisely if the conditions in
which the shift will be beneficial are to be defined.
At first glance, there are those cases in which the flexibility
would perhaps never be needed after the shift to the genetic. These are
cases in which the somatic change is an adjustment to some constant en­
vironmental circumstance. Those members of a species that are settled in
high mountains may as well base aIL their adjustments to mountain
climate, atmospheric pressure, and the like on genetic determination .
They do not need that reversibility which is the hallmark of somatic
Conversely, adaptation to variable and reversible circumstances is
much better accomplished by somatic change, and it may well be that
only very superficial somatic change is tolerable.
There is a grading of depth in somatic change. If a man goes up
from sea level to 1 2 , 000 feet in the mountains , he will , unless he is in
very good condition , begin to pant , and his heart will start to race.
These immediate and reversible somatic changes are adequate to deal
with a condition of emergency, but it would be an extravagant waste of
flexibility to use panting and tachycardia as the ongoing adjustment to
mountain atmosphere. What is required is somatic change which should
be perhaps less reversible because we are now considering , not temporary
emergency, but ongoing and lasting conditions. I t will pay to sacrifice
some reversibility in order to economize flexibility (i . e . , to save the
panting and tachycardia for some occasion in the high mountains when
extra effort may be needed).
What will happen is called acclimation. The man's heart will un­
derg o changes, his blood will come to contain more hemoglobin, his rib
cage and respiratory habits will shift, and so on. These changes will be
much less reversible than panting , and if the man goes visiting down in
the plains , he will perhaps feel some discomfort.
Pll nr"��""
In terms of the j argon of this book , there is a hierarchy of soma_ ,
tic adjustment dealing with particular and immediate demands at the i
superficial (most concrete) level and dealing with more general adjust­
ment at deeper (more abstract) levels. The matter is exactly parallel to '
the hierarchy of learning in which protolearning deals with the narrow
fact or action and deutero-learning deals with contexts and classes of
It is interesting to note that accl imation is accomplished by '
many changes on many fronts (heart muscle, hemoglobin, chest muscu­
lature, and so on); whereas the emergency measures tend to be ad hoc
and specific .
What happens in acclimation is that the organism buys superfi­
cial flexibility at the price of deeper rigidity. The man can now use panting and tachycardia as emergency measures if he meets a bear, but he ,
will be uncomfortable if he goes down to visit his old friends at sea "
level .
It is worthwhile to spell this matter out in more formal terms:
Consider all the propositions that might be required to describe an orga­
nism . There may be millions of them, but they will be linked together
in loops and circuits of interdependence. And in some degree, every
descriptive proposition will be normative for that organism; that is,
there will be maximum and minimum levels beyond which the variable
described will be toxic. Too much sugar in the blood or toO little will
kill , and this is so for all biological variables . There is what can be called
a metavalue attached to each variable; that is, it is good for the creature if
the given variable is in the middle of its range, not at its maximum or
minimum . And because the variables are interconnected in loops and
circuits, it follows that any variable which is at maximum or minimum
must partly cramp all other variables on the same loop.
Flexibility and survival will be favored by any change tending to
keep variables floating in the middle of their range. But any extreme
somatic adj ustment will push one or more variables to extreme values.
There is , therefore, always an available stress to be relieved by genetic
change provided that the phenotypic expression of the change shall not
be a further increase of already existing stress . What is required is a
genetic change that will alter the levels of tolerance for upper and/or lower
values of the variable.
If, for example, before genetic change (by mutation or, more
by reshuffling of genes), the tolerance for a given variable were
p rob
wi thin the limits 5 to 7 , then a genetic change that would change the
lim its to a new value , 7 to 9, would have survival value for a creature
wh ose somatic adjustment was straining to hold the variable up to the
old value of 7 . Beyond that , if the somatic adjustment pushed the new
value to 9, there would be a further available increment of survival value
to be gained by a further genetic change to permit or push the tolerance
levels farther up the same scale.
In the past , it was difficult to account for evolutionary change
related to disuse. That a genetic change in the same direction as the ef­
fects of habit or use would commonly have survival value was easy to
imagine, but it was more difficult to see how a genetic duplication of ef­
fects of disuse might pay off. However, if the logical typing of the
imagined genetic message is juggled, a hypothesis is achieved that uses a
single paradigm to cover the effects of both use and disuse. The old mys­
tery surrounding the blindness of cave animals and the eight-ounce
femur of the eighty-ton blue whale is no longer totally mysterious. We
have only to suppose that the maintenance of any residual organ , say a
ten-pound femur in an eighty-ton whale, will always push one or more
somatic variables to an upper or lower limit of tolerance to see that a
shift of the limits of tolerance will be acceptable.
However, from the point of view of this book, this solution to
the otherwise perplexing problems of use and disuse is an important
illustration of the relation between genetic or somatic change and ,
beyond that, of the relation between higher and lower logical typing i n
the vast mental process called evolution.
The message of higher logical type ( i . e . , the more genetic in­
junction) does not have to mention the somatic variable whose tolerances
are shifted by the genetic change. Indeed , the genetic script probably
contains nothing in any way resembling the nouns or substantives of
human language. My own expectation is that when the almost totally
unknown realm of processes whereby DNA determines embryology is
studied , it will be found that DNA mentions nothing but relations. If
we should ask DNA how many fingers this human embryo will have,
the answer might be, "Four paired relations between (fingers). " And if
we ask how many gaps between fingers , the answer would be "three
paired relations between (gaps). " In each case , only the "relations between"
are defined and determined. The relata, the end components of the rela­
tionships in the corporeal world , are perhaps never mentioned.
(Mathematicians will note that the hypothetical system here de­
scribed resembles their group theory in dealing only with relations
among the operations by which something is transformed , never with the
"something" itself. )
In this facet of the communication from somatic change through
natural selection to the gene pool of the population , it is important to
a. That somatic change is hierarchic in structure.
b. That genetic change is , in a sense, the highest component in
that hierarchy (i . e. , the most abstract and the least reversible).
c. That genetic change can at least partly avoid the price of im­
posing rigidity on the system by being delayed until it is probable that
the circumstance which was coped with by the soma at a reversible level
is indeed permanent and by acting only indirectly on the phenotypic
variable. The genetic change presumably shifts only the bias or setting
(see Glossary, "Logical Type") of the homeostatic control of the pheno­
typic variable.
d. That with this step from direct control of the phenotypic
variable to control of the bias of the variable, there is also probably an
opening and spreading of alternative possibilities for change. The control
of tolerances for the size of the whale's femur is no doubt achieved by
dozens of different genes acting, in this respect , together but each hav­
ing perhaps quite other expressions in other parts of the body.
A similar breakdown from this single effect , in which the evolu­
tionist happens to be interested at a given moment, to multiple alterna­
tive or synergistic causes was noted in the step from simple somatic
change to acclimation. It is expectable that in biology, stepping from
one logical level to the next higher will always have to be accompanied
by this multiplication of relevant considerations .
What has been said in section 2 is exemplified in almost every
point by my friend, Conrad Waddington's famous experiments demon­
strating what he called genetic assimilation. The most dramatic of these
began with the production of phenocopies of the effects on fruit flies of a
gene called bithorax. All ordinary members of the vast order Diptera, ex­
cept the wingless fleas , are two-winged and have the second pair of wings
reduced to little rods with knobs at the ends that are believed to be bal­
ance organs . Under the gene bithorax, the wing rudiments in the third
segment of the thorax become almost perfect wings, resulting in a four­
winged fly.
This very profound modification of the phenotype, waking up
very ancient and now inhibited morphology, could also be produced by a
somatiC change. When the pupae were intoxicated with ethyl ether in
appropriate dosage , the adult flies, when they hatched, had the bithorax
appearance. That is, the characteristic , bithorax, was known both as a
product of genetics and as the product of violent disturbance of epigene­
Waddington performed his experiments on large populations of
flies in big cages . In each generation , he subjected these populations to
ether intoxication to produce the bithorax forms. In each generation, he
selected out those flies that best represented his ideal of perfect bithorax
development. (All were rather miserable-looking beasts, quite unable to
fly.) From these selected individuals , he bred the next generation to be
subjected to the ether treatment and selection.
From each generation of pupae, he kept a few before intoxication
and let them hatch under normal conditions. Finally , as the experiment
progressed, after some thirty generations , bithorax forms started to turn
up in the untreated control group . Breeding from these showed that
they were indeed produced , not by the single gene bithorax, but by a
complex of genes that together create a four-winged appearance . In this
experiment , there is no evidence of any direct inheritance of acquired
characters. Waddington assumed that the shuffling of genes in sexual
reproduction and the mutation rate were unaffected by the physiological
insult to the organisms. What he offered as an explanation was that
selection on an astronomical scale, perhaps eliminating from potential
1 59
existence many tons of flies , sorted out a limited number of animals with
bithorax. He argued that it was legitimate to see this as a selection of
those individuals with the lowest threshold for the production of the
bithorax anomaly.
We do not know what would have been the outcome of the ex­
periment without Waddington's selecting of the "best" bithorax. Per­
haps in thirty generations , he would have created a population immune
to the ether treatment or conceivably a population needing ether. But
perhaps if the bithorax modification was , like most somatic change,
partly adaptive, the population would , like Waddington's experimental
populations, have produced genetic copies (genocopies) of the results of
ether treatment.
By the new word genocopy, I am stressing that the somatic change
may , in fact , precede the genetic , so that it would be more appropriate
to regard the genetic change as the copy. In other words , the somatic
changes may partly determine the pathways of evolution; and this will
be more so in larger gestalten than that which we are now considering.
That is, we must again i ncrease the logical typing of our hypothesis.
Three steps in theory making can thus be distinguished:
a. At the individual level , environment and experience can m­
duce somatic change but cannot affect the genes of the individual . There
is no direct Lamarckian inheritance, and such inheritance without selection
would irreversibly eat up somatic flexibility.
b . At the population level , with appropriate selection of pheno­
types , environment and experience will generate better-adapted individ­
uals on which selection can work. To this extent, the population behaves
as a Lamarckian unit . It is no doubt for this reason that the biological
world looks like a product of Lamarckian evolution.
c . But to argue that the somatic changes pioneer the direction of
evolutionary change requires another level of logical typing, a still larger
gestalt. We would have to invoke co-evolution and argue that the sur­
rounding ecosystem or some closely abutting species will change to fit
the somatic changes of the individuals. Such changes in environment
could conceivably act as a mold which will favor any genocopy of the
somatic changes .
Another aspect of the communication between genes and the de­
velopment of the phenotype is disclosed when we ask about the genetic
control of somatic change.
There is, surely , always a genetic contribution to all somatic
events I would argue as follows: If a man turns brown in the sun , we
may say that this was a somatic change induced by exposure to l ight of
the appropriate wavelengths and so on . If we subsequently protect him
from the sun , the tanning he received will disappear, and if he is blond ,
he will get back his pinkish appearance. With further exposure to the
sun, he will again go brown. And so on . The man changes color when
exposed to sunshine , but his ability to change in this way is not affected
by the exposure to or the protection from the sun--or so I believe.
But it is conceivable (and in the more complex processes of learn­
i ng , it is evidently so) that the ability to achieve certain somatic changes
is subject to learning . It is as if the man could improve or reduce his
ability to tan under sunlight. In such a case , the ability to achieve this
metachange might be totally controlled by genetic factors. Or it is con­
ceivable that , again , there might be an ability to change the ability to
change. And so on . But in no real case is it possible that the series of
s teps could be infinite.
It follows that the series must always end up in the genome, and
i t seems probable that in most instances of learning and somatic change,
the number of levels of somatic control is small . We can learn and learn
to learn and possibly learn to learn to learn. But that is probably the end
of the sequence.
On the basis of these considerations , it is nonsensical to ask: Is
t h e given characteristic of that organism determined by its genes or by
somatic change or learning? There is no phenotypic characteristic that is
u naffected by the genes .
The more appropriate question would be: At what level of logi­
cal typing does genetic command act in the determining of this charac­
teristic? The answer to this question will always take the form: At one
l ogical level higher than the observed ability of the organism to achieve
l earning or bodily change by somatic process.
Because of this failure to recognize logical typing of genetic and
16 1
of somatic change, almost all comparisons of "genius , " inherited "capac­
ity, " and the l ike degenerate into nonsense .
I have already pointed out that epigenesis is to evolution as the
working out of a tautology is to creative thought. In the embryology of
a creature, not only is there no need for new information or change of
plan , but for the most part , epigenesis must be protected from the in­
trusion of new information. The way to do it is the way it has always
been done. The development of the fetus should follow the axioms and
postulates laid down in DNA or elsewhere. In the language of Chapter
2 , evolution and learning are necessarily divergent and unpredictable, but
epigenesis should be convergent.
It follows that in the field of epigenesis, the cases in which new
information is needed will be rare and conspicuous. Conversely, there
should be cases , albeit pathological , in which lack or loss of information
results in gross distortions of development. In this context, the phenom­
ena of symmetry and asymmetry become a rich hunting ground in which
to look for examples . The ideas that must guide the early embryo in
these respects are both simple and formal , so that their presence or ab­
sence is unmistakable.
The best-known examples come from the experimental study of
the embryology of amphibians, and I shall d iscuss here some of the phe­
nomena connected with symmetry in the frog's egg . What is known of
the frog is probably true of all vertebrates.
It seems that without i nformation from the outside world , the
unfertilized frog's egg does not contain the necessary information (i . e. ,
the necessary difference) to achieve bilateral symmetry. The egg has twO
differentiated poles: the animal pole, where protoplasm preponderates
over yolk, and the vegetal pole, where yolk is preponderant. But there is
no differentiation among meridians or lines of longitude. The egg is in
this sense radially symmetrical .
No doubt the differentiation of animal and vegetal poles was de­
termined by the position of the egg in the follicular tissue or by the
plane of the last cell division in gamete production; that plane, in turn,
waS probably determined by position of the mother cell in the follicle.
But this is not enough.
Without some differentiation among the sides or meridians of
the unferti lized egg, it is impossible for the egg to "know" or "decide"
which shall be the future median plane of symmetry of the bilaterally
symmetrical frog . Epigenesis cannot begin until one meridian is made
different from all others. Fortunately , we happen to know how this
crucial information is provided . It comes, necessarily, from the outside
world and is the entry point of the spermatozoon . Typically , the sperma­
tozoon enters the egg somewhat below the equator, and the meridian
that includes the two poles and the entry point defines the median plane
of the frog's bilateral symmetry. The first segmentation of the egg
follows that meridian, and the side of the egg on which the sperma­
tozoon enters becomes the ventral side of the frog .
Furthermore, it is known that the needed message is not carried
in DNA or other complexities of the structure of the spermatozoon. A
prick with the fiber of a camel's hair brush will do the trick. Following
such a prick, the egg will segment and continue development, becoming
an adult frog that will hop and catch flies . It will , of course , be haploid
(i . e. , will lack half the normal complement of chromosomes). It will not
breed , but it will otherwise be perfect in all respects.
A spermatozoon is not necessary for this purpose. All that is
needed is a marker 0/ difference, and the organism is not particular regard­
ing the character of this marker. Without some marker , there will be no
embryo. "Nothing will come of nothing. "
But this is not the end of the story. The future frog and , indeed ,
already the very young tadpole is conspicuously asymmetrical in its en­
dodermic anatomy. Like most vertebrates , the frog is rather precisely
symmetrical in ectoderm (skin, brain , and eyes) and in mesoderm (skele­
ton and skeletal muscles) but is grossly asymmetrical in its endodermic
Structures (gut, liver , pancreas, and so on) . (Indeed, every creature that
folds its gut in other than the median plane must be asymmetrical in
this respect . If you look at the belly of any tadpole, you will see the gut ,
clearly visible through the skin , coiled in a great spiral . )
Expectably , situs inversus (the condition o f reversed symmetry)
occurs among frogs , but with extreme rarity. It is well known in the
human species and affects about one individual in a million . Such indi-
viduals look just like other people but internally they are reversed , the ·. '
right side of the heart serving the aorta while the left serves the lungs,
and so on. The causes of this reversal are not known, but the fact that it
occurs at all denotes that the normal asymmetry is not determined by the
asymmetry of the molecules . To reverse any part of that chemical asym­
metry would require the reversal of all because the molecules must ap­
propriately fit each other . Reversal of the entire chemistry is unthinkable ..
and could not survive in any but a reversed world.
So a problem remains regarding the source of the information
which determines the asymmetry. There must surely be information that
will instruct the egg with regard to the correct (statistically normal) · .
So far as we know, there is no moment after fertilization at
which this information could be delivered . The order of events is first
extrusion from the mother, then fertilization; after that, the egg is pro­
tected in a mass of jelly throughout the period of segmentation and early
embryonic development . In other words, the egg must surely already
contain the information necessary to determine asymmetry before fertil­
ization . In what form must this information exist?
In the discussion of the nature of explanation in Chapter 2 , I
noted that no dictionary can define the words left or right. That is , no ar­
bitrary digital system can resolve the matter; the information must be
ostensive. We now have the chance of finding out how the same problem
is solved by the egg.
I believe that there can be, in principle, only one sort of solution
(and I hope that somebody with a scanning electron microscope will look
for the evidence). It must be so that the answer is in the egg before fer­
tilization and therefore is in some form that will still determine the same
asymmetry regardless of which meridian is marked by the entering sperma­
tozoon. It follows that every meridian , regardless of where it is drawn,
must be asymmetrical and that all must be asymmetrical in the same
This requirement is satisfied most simply by some sort of spiral 0/
nonquantitatitJe or vector relations . Such a spiral will cut every meridian
obliquely to make in every meridian the same difference between east
and west.
A similar problem arises in the differentiation of bilateral limbs .
1 h4
My right arm is an asymmetrical object and a formal mirror image of my
left . But there are in the world rare monstrous individuals who bear a
pair of arms or a forked arm on one side of the body . In such cases, the
pair will be a bilaterally symmetrical system . One component will be a
right and one a left , and the two will be so placed as to be in mirror
image. '*' This generalization was first enunciated by my father in the
1 890s and for a long time was called Bateson's rule. He was able to show
the working of this rule in almost every phylum of animals by a search
of all the museums and many primate collections in Europe and
America. Especially, he gathered about a hundred cases of such aberra­
tion in the legs of beetles.
I reexami ned this story and argued , from his original data, that
he had been wrong to ask: What determined this extra symmetry? He
should have asked: What determined the 10J'S of asymmetry?
I proposed the hypothesis that the monstrous forms were pro­
duced by loss or forgetting of information . To be bilaterally symmetrical
requires more information than radial symmetry, and to be asymmetrical
requires more information than bilateral symmetry. Asymmetry of a lat­
eral limb, such as a hand , requires appropriate orientation in three direc­
tions . The direction towards the back of the hand must be different from
the direction towards the palm; the direction towards the thumb must
be different from the direction towards the little finger, and the direc­
tion towards the elbow must be different from the direction towards the
fingers. These three directions must be appropriately put together to
make a right rather than a left hand. If one direction is reversed , as when
the hand is reflected in a mirror, a reversed image will result (see
Chapter 3, section 9). But if one of the three differentiations is lost or
forgotten, the limb will be able to achieve only bilateral symmetry.
In this case, the postulate " nothing will come of nothing" be­
comes a little more elaborate: Bilateral symmetry will come of asym­
metry when one discrimination is lost.
• I have simplified the rule somewhat for this presentation. For a more complete account see Steps to
an Ecology of Mind in the essay entirled
" A Re-examination of Bateson's Rule."
At this point, I shall leave the problems of individual genetics,
somatic change and learning , and the immediate pathways of evolution
to look at the results of evolution on the larger scale. I shall ask what we
can deduce about the underlying ptocesses from the wider picture of
Comparative anatomy has a long history. For at least sixty years,
from the publication of The Origin of Species to the 1 920s , the focus of
comparative anatomy was on relatedness , to the exclusion of process.
That phylogenie trees could be constructed was felt to be evidence for
Darwinian theory. The fossil record was inevitably very incomplete, and
lacking such direct evidence of descent , the anatomists showed an insa­
tiable appetite for instances of that class of resemblances called homology.
Homology "proved" relatedness , and relatedness was evolution.
Of course, people had noted the formal resemblances among liv­
ing things at least since the evolution of language, which classified my
"hand" with your "hand" and my "head" with the "head" of a fish. But
awareness of any need to explain such formal resemblances came much
later. Even today, most people are not surprised by , and see no problem
in , the resemblance between their two hands. They do not feel or see any
need for a theory of evolution. To the thoughtful among the ancients
and even to people of the Renaissance, the formal resemblance between
creatures illustrated the connectedness within the Great Chain of Being,
and these connections were logical, not genealogical , links .
Be all that as it may, the jumped conclusion from formal resem­
blance to relatedness concealed a number of jumped hypotheses.
Let us grant the formal resemblance in thousands of cases-man
and horse, lobster and crab--and let us assume that in these cases, the
formal resemblances are not merely evidence for but flatly the result of
evolutionary relationship. We can then go on to consider whether the
nature of the resemblances in these cases throws light on the evolu­
tionary process .
We ask: What do the homologies tell us about the procm of
evolution? What we find , when we compare our description of lobster
with our description of crab, is that some components of the descriptions
remain unchanged and that others are different from one description to
the other. Therefore, our first step will surely take the form of distin­
guishing between different sorts of change. Some changes will be
stressed as more probable and easy; others will be more difficult and
th erefore more improbable. I n such a world , the slow-changing variables
wi ll lag behind and could become the core of those homologies on which
the wider hypotheses of taxonomy might be based.
But this first classification of changes into fast and sl(JW will itself
What can we add to our description of evolutionary
process that will , perhaps , let us predict which variables will , in fact , be
slow changing and so become the basis of homology?
To my knowledge, the only beginning of such a classification is
implicit in the theory of so-called recapitulation.
The germ of the doctrine of recapitulation was first put forward
by the early German embryologist , Karl Ernst von Baer in 1828 in the
phrase "law of corresponding stages . " He demonstrated his law by the
device of comparing unlabeled vertebrate embryos .
I am quite unable to say to what class they belong. They may be lizards
or small birds or very young mammal ia, so complete is the similarity in
the mode of formation of the head and trunk in these animals . The ex­
tremities are still absent , but even if they existed , in the earlier stage of
development we should learn nothing because all arise from the same
fundamental form. *
Von Baer's concept of "corresponding stages" was later elabo­
rated by Ernst Haeckel, Darwin's contemporary , into the theory of reca­
pitulation and the much-disputed assertion that "ontogeny repeats phy­
logeny. " Since then , very varied phrasings of the matter have been
proposed . Most cautious is perhaps the assertion that the larvae or em­
bryos of a given species commonly resemble the larvae of a related
species more closely than the adults resemble the adults of the related
species. But even this very cautious phrasing is blemished by conspicu­
ous exceptions . t
However , in spite of the exceptions , I incline to the view that
' Ency clOpedia Britannica, S . V . "Baer, Karl Ernst von
( / 792- 1 876) . "
t For example , among the marine wormlike creatures o f the older Enteropneusta, different species, of
what used to be regarded as a single genus Balanoglossus, have totally different embryology. B .
kovalevskii, has tadpolelike larvae with gill slits and notochord; whereas other species have larvae like
those of echinoderms.
1 67
von Baer's generalization provides an important clue to evolutionary pro­
cess. Right or wrong , his generalization poses important questions about '
the survival not of organisms but of traits: Is there any highest common :
factor shared by those variables that become stable and therefore have
been used by zoologists in their search for homology? The law of corre� •
sponding stages has an advantage over later phrasings in that he was not
grasping after phylogenic trees, and even the brief quotation I have cited } I
has special points that would be unnoticed by a phylogenetic sleuth . Is '
it so that embryonic variables are more enduring than adult variables?
Von Baer is concerned with higher vertebrates: l izards, birds,
and mammals, creatures whose embryology is padded and protected ei�
ther by an eggshell full of food or in a womb. With , say, insect larvae, I
von Baer's demonstration simply would not work. Any entomologist "
could look at an unlabeled display of beetle larvae and say at once to '
what family each larva belongs. The diversity of the larvae is as surpris­
ing as the diversity of the adults.
The law of corresponding stages is seemingly true not only
whole vertebrate embryos but also of successive limbs in the earl '
stages of their development . So�called serial homology shares with phy� " ,
logenic homology the generalization that , on the whole, resemblances
precede differences. The fully developed claw of a lobster differs conspicu�
ously from the walking appendages on the other four thoracic segments,
but all the thoracic appendages looked alike in their early stages .
Perhaps this is as far as we should push von Baer's generalization:
to assert that, in general , resemblance is older (both phylogenetically and
ontogenetically) than difference. To some biologists, this will seem like .
a truism , as if to say that in any branching system , two points close to ,
the point of branching will be more l ike each other than will two
far from that point . But this apparent truism would not be true of de- '
ments in the periodic table and would not necessarily be true in a bio,
logical world produced by special creation. Our truism is , in fact , evi­
dence for the hypothesis that organisms are indeed to be related as points
or positions on a branching tree.
The generalization that resemblance is older than difference is
still a very incomplete explanation of the occurrence of homology in
thousands of examples throughout the biological world . The question"
"why do some characteristics become the basis of homology?" is only
repeated by saymg that resemblances are older than differences . The
question remains almost unchanged: Why do some characteristics be­
come older, surviving longer , to become the basis of homology?
We face a problem of JurvitJal, not the survival of species or
varieties struggling in a hostile world of other organisms , but a more
subtle survival of traits (items of description) that must survive both in
an outside environment and in an inner world of other traits in the total
reproduction, embryology, and anatomy of the given organism .
In the complex network of the scientist's description of the total
organism , why do some pieces of that description stay true longer (over
more generations) than other pieces? And is there coincidence, overlap­
ping , or synonymy between the parts and pieces of the description and
the parts and pieces of the aggregate of injunctions that determine on­
If an elephant had the dentition and other formal characteristics
of members of the family Muridae, he would be a mouse in spite of his
size. Indeed , the cat-sized hyrax is close to being a hippopotamus , and
the lion is very close to being a pussycat. Mere size seems to be irrele­
vant . Form is what matters . But what precisely is meant by "form" or
"pattern" in this context is not easy to define.
We are searching for criteria whereby we can recognize those
traits that are appropriate candidates for ongoing truth in the hurly­
bUrly of evolutionary process. Two characteristics of such traits stand
Out-two traditional ways of d ividing up the vast field of "differences . "
There is the dichotomy between pattern and quantity and the dichotomy
between continuity and discontinuity. Are contrasting organisms linked
by a continuous series of steps , or is there a sudden transition between
them? It is awkward (but not impossible) to imagine gradual transition
between patterns , and therefore, these two dichotomies are likely to
overlap. At the very least, we can expect that those theorists who prefer
to invoke pattern will also prefer theories that invoke discontinuity.
(BUt , of course , such preferences , which depend only upon the bent of
th e mind of the individual scientist or the fashionable opinions of the
ti me, should be deprecated . )
The clearest findings relevant t o this subject are, I believe, the
elegan t demonstrations of the zoologist D'Arcy Wentworth Thompson
in the early part of this century. He showed that in many cases, perhaps
In every case he tested , two contrasting but related animal forms will
have this in common: that if one form is drawn (say, in profile) on
simple orthogonal Cartesian coordinates (e. g . , on squared paper) , then
with appropriate bending or distortion , the same coordinates will ac­
commodate the other form . All points on the profile of the second form
will fall on similarly named points on the bent coordinates. (See Figure
What i s significant i n D'Arcy Thompson's findings i s that in any
given case, the distortion is unexpectedly simple and is consistent
throughout the depiction of the animal. The bending of the coordinates
is such as could be described by some simple mathematical transforma­
This simplicity and consistency must surely mean that those dif­
ferences between the phenotypes, which D'Arcy Thompson's method ex­
poses , are represented by rather few differences of genotype (i. e. , by
rather few genes).
Furthermore, from the consistency of distortion throughout the
animal's body, it would seem that the genes in question are pleiotropic
(i . e . , affect many, perhaps all, parts of the phenotype) in ways that are,
in this particular sense, harmonious throughout the body .
To interpret these findings any further is not entirely simple,
and D'Arcy Thompson himself does not do much to help. He is exultant
that mathematics is shown able to describe certain sorts of change.
In this connection, it is interesting to note the current con­
troversy between the upholders of "synthetic" theory in evolution (the
current Darwinian orthodoxy) and their enemies, the "typologists. "
Ernst Mayr, for example, makes fun of the blindness of typologists :
" History shows that the typologist does not and cannot have any appre­
ciation of natural selection . " ;; Unfortunately , he does not quote his
sources for his typology of his colleagues . Is he too modest to claim the
credit? Or is it so, in this case, that it takes one to know one?
Are we not all typologists under the skin?
In any case , there are no doubt many ways of looking at animal
forms. And because we are embarked on a Platonic study of the parallel­
ism between creative thinking and that vast mental process called biologi•
See Ernst Mayr, Populations, SPecies and Evolution (Cambridge, Mass. : Harvard University Press,
p. 1 07.
1 70
( b)
Figure 9 , Carapaces of various crabs,
This figure reproduced from D'Arcy Thompson's On Grvuth and Form, p, 294, Reprinted by per­
mission of Cambridge Universiry Pres s , copyrighr © 196 1 .
cal evolution, i t i s worthwhile to ask i n every instance: I s this way of look­
ing at the phenomena somehow represented or paralleled within the
organizational system of the phenomena themselves? Do any of the ge­
netic messages and static signs that determine the phenotype have the
SOrt of syntax (for lack of a better word) which would divide "typologi­
cal" from "synthetic" thinking? Can we recognize, among the very mes­
sages which create and shape the animal forms, some messages more
typological and some more synthetic?
When the question is put in this way, it seems that Mayr is
deeply right in proposing h is typology, The old drawings of D' Arcy
Thompson precisely separate two sorts of communication within the or­
ganism itself. The drawings show that animals have two sorts of charac-
17 1
I i
I '
teristics: (a) They have relatively stable quasi-topological patterns , whic h
have understandably led scientists to postulate gross discontinuity in th e
evolutionary process. These c haracteristics remain constant under the
impact of (b) the relatively unstable quant itative characteristics which
are shown as changing from one depiction to the next.
If we draw the coordinates to fit the quasi-topological character­
istics , we find that changes in the less stable characteristics have to be
represented as distortions of the coordinates .
In terms of the present question regarding homology , it appears
that there are indeed different sorts of characteristics and that phylogenie
homology will surely depend upon the more stable and quasi-topolog ical
" Adaptation" in the language of the evolutionist
approxi- i
mately synonymous with "design" in the language of such theologians as
William Paley , * whose
is a voluminous collection of conspicu- :
ous examples of elegant special adj ustments of animals to their way
life. But I suspect that both "adaptation" and "design" are misleading :
concepts .
If we come to regard the production of particular pieces of adap- , .
tation-the claw of the crab, the hand and eye of the man, and
on-as central to the mass of problems the evolutionist must solve ,
distort and limit our view of evolution as a whole. What seems to
happened, perhaps as a result of the silly battles between the early
tionists and the Church , is that out of the vast Heraclitean flux of
tionary process, certain eddies and backwaters of the stream have
picked out for special attention . As a result, the two great
processes have been partly ignored. Even professional biologists have
seen that in the larger view, evolution is as value-free and as beautiful
the dance of Shiva, where all of beauty and ugliness, creation and
struction are expressed or compressed into one complex
pathway .
Will iam Paley ( 1743-1805) was a defender of the Genesis story of creation long before
was born. His View 0/ the Evidences of Christianity ( 1794) was until recently a required
those Cambridge students who did not take Greek.
By setting the terms
side by side in the
title of this section, I have tried to correct this sentimental or at least
overoptimistic view of evolution as a whole. The fascinating cases of ad­
aptation which make nature appear so clever , so ingenious , may also be
early steps toward pathology and overspecialization. And yet it is dif­
ficul t to see the crab's claw or the human retina as first steps toward pa­
tho logy.
It seems that we must ask: What characterizes those adaptations
that turn out to be disastrous , and how do these differ from those that
seem to be benign and , like the crab's claw, remain benign through geo­
l ogic al ages ?
The question is pressing and relevant to the contemporary di­
lemmas of our own civilization. I n Darwin's day , every invention ap­
peared benig n , but that is not so today . Sophisticated eyes in the twen­
tieth century will view every invention askance and will doubt that
blind stochastic processes always work together for good.
We badly need a science that will analyze this whole matter of
adaptation-addiction at all levels . Ecology is perhaps the beginning of
such a science, although ecologists are still far from telling us how to get
out of an atomic armaments race.
In principle, neither random genetic change accompanied by
natural selection nor random processes of trial and error in thought ac­
companied by selective reinforcement will necessarily work for the good
of either species or individual. And at the social level , it is still not clear
that the inventions and stratagems which are rewarded in the individual
necessarily have survival value for the society; nor , vice versa, do the
polic ies that representatives of society might prefer necessarily have sur­
vival valu e for individuals.
A large number of patterns can be adduced w hich suggest that
a belie f in natural selection or laissez-faire is obviously naIve:
a. The remainder of the system will change to crowd in on the
In novation to make it irreversible.
b . Interaction with other species or individuals will lead to a
change in
context, so that further innovation of the same kind becomes
, and the system then goes i nto escalation or runaway.
c. The innovation sets up other changes within the system ,
mak ing it
necessary to forgo other adaptations .
d . The flexibility (i . e. , positive entropy) of the system is eaten
up .
e. The adapted species is so favored that by overgrazing in some
form, it will destroy its ecological niche.
f. What seemed desirab l e i n short time perspective becomes di­
sastrous over longer time.
g . The innovating species or individual comes to act as if it is no
longer partially dependent on neighboring species and individuals.
h. By a process of addiction , the i nnovater becomes hooked into
the business of trying to hold constant some rate of change. The social
addiction to armaments races is not fundamentally different from indi­
vidual addiction to drug s . Common sense urges the addict always to get
another fix. And so on.
In sum , each of these d isasters will be found to contain an error
10 logical typing . In spite of immediate gain at one logical level , the
sign is reversed and benefit becomes calamity in some other, larger or
longer , context.
We lack any systematic knowledge of the dynamics of these
processes .
Ross Ashby '*' long ago pointed out that no system (neither com­
puter nor organism) can produce anything
tains some source of the random .
unless the system con­
In the computer , this will be a
random-number generator whic h will ensure that the "seeking , " trial­
and-error moves of the machi n e will ultimately cover all the possibilities
of the set to be explored .
In other words , all innovative,
guage of Chapter
2 , divergent,-
systems are, in the lan­
conversely , sequences of events that are
predictable are, ipso facto, convergent .
• See W. Ross Ashby,
Introduction to Cybernetics. (New York and London : John Wiley and Sons, Inc. ,
This does not mean , by the way, that all divergent processes are
stochastic . For that , the process requires not only access to the random
but also a built-in comparator that in evolution is called "natural selec­
tion" and in thought "preference" or "reinforcement. "
It may well be that under the eye of eternity , which sees every­
thing in cosmic and eternal context,
event sequences become stochas­
tic. To such an eye , and even to the patient and compassionate Taoist
saint , it may be clear that no ultimate preference is necessary for the
steering of the total system . But we live in a l i mited region of the uni­
verse, and each one of us exists in limited time. To us , the divergent is
real and is a potential source of either disorder or innovation.
I even suspect sometimes that we , albeit bound in illusion , do
the Taoist's work of choosing and preferring while he sits back . (I am
reminded of the mythical poet who was also a conscientious objector. He
claimed, "I am the civi l ization for which the other boys are fighting . "
Perhaps he was , i n some sense, right?)
Be all that as it may, it appears that we exist In a l imited
biosphere whose major bent is determined by two interlocking stochastic
processes . Such a system cannot long remain without change. But the
of change is limited by three factors:
a. The
Weissmannian barrier between somatic and genetic
change , discussed in section
of this chapter, ensures that the somatic
adjustments shall not rashly become irreversible.
b . I n every generation , sexual reproduction provides a guarantee
that the DNA blueprint of the new shall not conflict outrageously with
the blueprint of the old , a form of natural selection operating at the level
of DNA regardless of what the deviant new blueprint may mean to the
phenotype .
c. Epigenesis operates as a convergent and conservative system;
the developing embryo is , within itself, a context of selection favoring
conservatism .
It was Alfred Russel Wallace who saw clearly that natural selec­
tion IS a conservative process. H is quas i-cybernetic model , in his letter
expl aining his idea to Dar wi n , has been mentioned elsewhere but is rele­
van t here:
The action of this principle is exactly like that of the centrifugal gov er­
nor of the steam engine, which checks and corrects any irregularities al­
most before they become evident ; and in like manner no unbalanced
deficiency in the animal kingdom can ever reach any conspicuous mag­
nitude, because it would make itself felt at the very first step, by ren­
dering existence difficult and extinction almost sure to follow. >II<
I n this section, I shall try to make more precise the description
of the twO systems , to examine the functions of each, and finally , to ex­
amine the character of the larger system of total evolution that is the
product of combining the two subsystems.
Each subsystem has twO components (as is implied by the word
(see Glossary): a random c omponent and a process of selection
working on the products of the random component .
In that stochastic system to which Darwinians have paid most at­
tention , the random component is
change, either by mutation or
by the reshuffling of genes among m embers of a population . I assume
mutation to be nonresponsive to environmental demand or to internal
stress of the organism. I assume, however, that the machinery of selec­
tion which acts on the randomly varying organisms will include both
each creature's internal stress and ,
later, the environmental circum­
stances to which the creature is sub jected.
It is of primary importance t o note that insofar as embryos are
protected in eggs or in the mother's body , the external environment will
not have a strong selective effect on g enetic novelties until epigenesis has
proceeded through many steps . I n the past and still continuing into the
present , external natural selection has favored those changes that protect
the embryo and juvenile from external dangers. The result has been an
increasing separation between the tWO stochastic systems .
• See Alfred Russel Wallace, "On the Tendency of Varieties to Depart Indefinitely from the Origi­
Darwin A
NorIan Critical Edition (New York: W. W. Norro n , 1970), p. 97.
t This section is the most difficult a n d perhaps the most important part of t h e book. The lay reader
and especially the reader who needs to see the usefulness of all thinking will perhaps find help in Ap­
nal Type ," Linnaean Society Papers (London, 1858). Reprinted in P. Appleman, ed . ,
pendix I, which reproduces a memorandum ,tddressed to the regents of the University of California.
An alternative method for ensuring the survival of at least a few
of the offspring is by vast multiplication of their numbers. If every
reproductive cycle of the individual produces
of l arvae , the rising
generation can suffer decimation some six times over. This is to treat the
external causes of death as probabilistic, making no attempt to adapt to
their particular nature . By this strateg y , too, the internal selection is
given a clear field for the control of change .
Thus , either by protection of the immature offspring or by their
astronomical multiplication , it comes about that today, for many orga­
nisms, the internal cond itions will provide the first constraint to which
the new form must conform . Will the new form be viable in that set­
ting? Will the developing embryo be able to tolerate the new form , or
will the change precipitate lethal irregularities in the embryo's develop­
ment? The answer will depend upon the somatic flexibility of the em­
Above all , in sexual reproduction , the matching up of chromo­
somes in fertil ization enforces a process of comparison . What is new in
either ovum or spermatozoon must meet with what is old in the other,
and the test will favor conformity and conservation . The m ore grossly
new will be eliminated on grounds of incompatibility .
Following the fusion process o f reproduction will come all the
complexities of developmen t , and here the combinatorial aspect of em­
bryology which is stressed in the term
will impose further tests
of conformity. We know that in the status quo ante, all the require­
ments of compatibility were met to produce a sexually mature pheno­
type . If this were not so, the status quo ante could never have existed.
It is very easy to fall into the notion that if the new is viable,
then there must have been something wrong with the old . This view, to
which organisms already suffering the pathologies of over rapid , frantic
social change are inevitably prone, is, of course, mostly nonsense. What
important is to be sure that the new is not
than the old .
It is still not certain that a society containing the internal combustion
engine can be viable or that electronic communication devices such as
television are compatible with the aggressive intraspecies competition
generated by the Industrial Revolution . Other things being equal (which
is not often the case) , the old, which has been somewhat tested , is more
l ikely to be viable than the new , which has not been tested at all .
Internal selection, then , is the first maze of tests to which any
new genetic component or combination is subject .
In contras t , the second stochastic system has its immediate roots
in external adaptation (i . e . , in the interaction between phenotype and
environment) . The random component is provided by the system of
phenotype in interaction with environment.
The particular acquired characteristics produced
response to
some given change in environment may be predictable. If the food
supply is reduced , the organism is likely to lose weight mainly by me­
tabolizing its own fat . Use and disuse will bring about changes in the
development or underdevelopment of particular organs . And so on.
Similarly, within the environment , prediction of particular change is
often possible: a change of climate toward greater cold may predictably
reduce the local biomass and so reduce the food supply for many species
of organisms . But
the phenotype and the organism generate an
unpredictability. "" Neither organism nor environment contains informa­
tion about what the other will do next . But in this subsystem , a selec­
tive component is already present insofar as somatic changes evoked by
habit and environment (including habit itself) are adaptive.
the name of the large class of changes induced by environment and expe­
rience that are not adaptive and do not confer survival valu e . )
them ,
and physiology
change that may or may not be viable, and it is the current state of the
organism as determined by
argued in section
that determines the viability. As I
the limits of what can be achieved by somatic
change or by learning are always ultimately fixed by genetics.
I n sum , the combination of phenotype and environment thus ,
constitutes the random component of the stochastic system that proposes
change; the genetic state
permitting some changes and prohibi t­
ing others . Lamarckians want the somatic change to control the genetic,
but in truth , the opposite is the case. It is the genetics that limits the
somatic changes , making some possible and some impossible .
Moreover , as that which contains potentials for change , the ge­
nome of the individual organism is what the computer engineers would
" The reader may be interested in comparing rhis unpredictability. generated by these two interact­
ing subsystems, with the unpredictability generated by the interaction of Alice and her flamingo in
the famous game of croquet.
call a bank, providing storage of available alternative pathways of adapta­
ti on. Most of these alternatives remain unused and therefore invisible in
any given individual .
Similarly, in the other stochastic system , the gene pool of the
is nowadays believed to be exceedingly heterogeneous . All of
the genetic combinations that could occur are created , if only rarely , by
the shuffling of genes in sexual reproduction. There is thus a vast bank
of alternative genetic pathways that any wild population can take under
p ressure of selection, as is shown in Waddington's studies of genetic as­
similation (discussed in section
So far as this picture is correct, both population and individual
are ready to move. There is, expectably , no need to wait for appropriate
mutations , which is a point of some historic interest . Darwin , as is well
k nown, shifted his views about Lamarckism in the belief that geological
time was insufficient for a process of evolution which would operate
without Lamarckian inheritance. He therefore accepted a Lamarckian
position in later editions of
The Origin 0/ Species.
Theodosius Dob­
zhansky's discovery that the unit of evolution is the population and that
the population is a heterogeneous storehouse of genic possibilities greatly
reduces the time required by evolutionary theory. The population is able
to respond immediately to environmental pressures . The individual or­
ganism has the capacity for adaptive somatic change, but it is the popu­
lation that, by selective mortality, undergoes change which is transmit­
ted to future generations . The
for somatic change becomes
the object of selection. It is on populations that environmental selection
acts .
We now proceed to examine the separate contributions of each of
these two stochastic systems to the overall process of evolution . Clearly,
in each case, it is the selective component that gives direction to the
changes which are finally incorporated into the total picture.
The time structure of the two stochastic processes is necessarily
different. In the case of random genetic change, the new state of DNA is
in existence from the moment of fertilization but wil l perhaps not con­
tribute to external adaptation until much later. In other words , the first
test of genetic change is
It follows that it is this internal
stochastic system which will ensure that formal resemblance in internal
relations between parts (i . e . , homology) will be conspicuous everywhere.
In add ition , it is possible to predict which among the many SOrts of
homology will be most favored by internal selection; and the answer is
first the cytological , that most surprising set of resemblances which
unites the whole world of cellular organisms. Wherever we look , we find
comparable forms and processes within the cells . The dance of the chro­
mosomes , the mitochondria and other cytoplasmic organelles , and the
uniform ultramicroscopic structure of flagella wherever they occur , either
in plants or in animals-all these very profound formal resemblances are
the result of internal selection that insists on conservatism at this ele­
mentary level .
A similar conclusion emerges when we ask about the later fate of
changes that have survived the first cytological tests. The change that
has impact
in the life of the embryo must disturb a longer
and correspondingly more complex chain of later events.
It is difficult or impossible to establish any quantitative estimate
of the distribution of homologies through the life history of the crea­
tures . To assert that homology is most prevalent at very early stages in
gamete production , fertilization, and so on is to make a quantitative
statement identifYing
of homology, setting a value on such char­
acteristics as chromosome number, mitotic pattern , bilateral symmetry,
five-toed limbs , dorsal central nervous systems, and so on . Such evalua­
tion will be very artificial in a world in which (as noted in Chapter 2)
quantity never determines pattern. But the hunch still remains . The only
fo rmal patterns shared by all cellular organisms-plants and animals
alike--are at the cellular level.
An interesting conclusion follows from these lines of thought:
After all the controversy and skepticism , the theory of recapitulation is
defensible. There is a priori reason to expect that embryos will resemble
in formal pattern the embryos of ancestral forms more closely than the . .
formal patterns of adults will resemble those of ancestral adults . This is
far from what Haeckel and Herbert Spencer dreamed of in their notion
that embryology would have to follow the pathways of phylogeny. The
present phrasing is more negative: Deviation from the beginning of
the pathway is more difficult (less probable) than deviation from later
If, as evolutionary engineers, we faced the task of choosing a
pathway of phylogeny from free-swimming, tadpolelike creatures to the
sessile, wormlike Balanoglossus living in mud , we would fi nd that the
easiest course of evolution would avoid too early and too drastic distur­
bances of the embryologic stages . We might even find that it would be a
simplification of evolutionary process to punctuate epigenesis by a demar­
cation of separate stages . We would then arrive at a creature with free­
swimming, tadpolelike larvae that , at a certain moment, would undergo
metamorphosis into the wormlike, sessile adults.
The machinery of change is not simply permissive or simply cre­
ative. Rather, there is a continual determinism whereby the changes that
can occur are members of a class of changes appropriate to that particular
machinery. The system of random genetic change filtered by the selec­
tive process of internal viability gives to phylogeny the characteristic of
pervasive homology.
If we now consider the other stochastic system , we shall arrive at
a quite different picture. Although no learning or somatic change can
directly affect DNA , it is clearly so that somatic changes (i . e . , the
famous acquired characteristics) are commonly adaptive. It is useful in
terms of individual survival and/or reproduction and/or simple comfort
and stress reduction to adjust to environmental change. Such adjustment
occurs at many levels, but at every level , there is a real or seeming
benefit. It is a good idea to pant when you arrive at a high altitude and a
g ood idea to learn not to pant if you stay long in the high mountains . It
is a good idea to have a physiological system that will adjust to physio­
logical stress, even though adjustment l eads to acclimation and acclima­
tion may be addiction.
In other words, somatic adjustment will always create a context
for genetic change , but whether such genetic change will follow is a
quite separate question. Let me set that question aside for the moment
and consider the spectrum of what can be proposed by somatic change.
Clearly , this spectrum or set of possibilities will set an outward limit to
What this stochastic component of evolution can achieve.
One common characteristic of somatic change is immediately ev­
ident: All such changes are quantitative or, as the computer engineers
Would say, analogic. In the animal body, the central nervous system and
DNA are in large degree (perhaps totally) digital , but the remainder of
the physiology is analogic. '*'
Thus, in comparing the random genetic changes of the first
stochastic system with the responsive somatic changes of the second , we
meet again with the generalization stressed in Chapter
not determine pattern.
2: Quantity does
The genetic changes may be highly abstract , operat­
i ng at many removes from their ultimate phenotypic expression , and no
doubt, they may be either quantitative or qualitative in their final ex­
pression . But the somatic are much more direct and are, I believe, solely
quantitative. The descriptive propositions that contribute shared pattern
(i . e. , homology) to the description of species are, so far as I know , never
disturbed by the somatic changes that habit and environment can in­
In other words , the contrast that D'Arcy Thompson demon­
strated (see Figure
would seem to have roots in (i . e . , to follow from)
this contrast between the two great stochastic systems.
Finally, I have to compare the processes of thought with the
double stochastic system of biological evolution. Is thought also charac­
terized by such a double system? (If not, then the whole structure of this
book is suspect. )
First it is important to note that, what , in Chapter 1 , I called
"Platonism" is made possible today by arguments which are almost the
opposi te of those which a dualistic theology might prefer. The parallel­
ism between biological evolution and mind is created not by postulating
a Designer or Artificer hiding in the machinery of evolutionary process
but, conversely , by posrulating that thought is stochastic. The nine­
teenth-century critics of Darwin (especially Samuel Butler) wanted to in­
troduce what they called "mind" (i . e . , a supernatural entelechy) into
biosphere . Today
would emphasize that
thought must always
contain a random component. The exploratory processes-the endless
trial and error
of mental progress--can achieve the
only by embark­
ing upon pathways randomly presented , some of which when tried are
somehow selected for something like survival .
• Note that at a deep epistemological level, the
contrast between the d igital and the analogic is
i ndeed a sharp contrast , such as occurs between components of digital systems. This contrast or dis­
continuity is a fu ndamental barrier between the somatic and the genetic ( i . e . , a barrier that prevents
Lamarckian inheritance).
;;# :
If we grant that creative thought is fundamentally stochastic ,
there are then several aspects of human mental process that suggest a
positive analogy. We are looking for a binary division of thought process
that will be stochastic in both of its halves , but the halves will differ in
that the random component of one half will be digital and the random
component of the other will be analogic.
The simplest way into this problem seems to be by considering
first the selection processes that govern and l imit the outcome. Here the
twO principal modes of testing thoughts or ideas are familiar.
The first is the test of coherence: Does the new idea make sense
in terms of what is already known or believed? Granted that there are
many sorts of sense and that "logic, " as we have already seen, is a poor
model of how the world operates, it is still so that some sort of consis­
tency or coherence-rigorous or fanciful-is the thinker's first require­
ment of the notions which occur in the mind . Conversely , the genesis of
new notions is almost totally (perhaps not totally) dependent upon re­
shuffling and recombining ideas that we already have.
There is, in fact , a remarkably close parallel between this sto­
chastic process which goes on inside the brain and that other stochastic
process which is the genesis of random genetic change on which an in­
ternal selection operates to ensure some conformity between the new and
the old . And as we examine the matter more closely, the formal resem­
blance seems to increase.
In discussing the contrast between epigenesis and creative evolu­
tion , I pointed out that in epigenesis, all new information must be kept
away and that the process is more like the elaborating of theorems
within some primary tautology. I have pointed out in this chapter that
the whole process of epigenesis can be viewed as an exact and critical fil­
ter , demanding certain standards of conformity within the growing indi­
vidual .
We no'Y note that in the intracranial process of thought, there is
a similar filter that, like epigenesis within the individual organism,
demands conformity and enforces this demand by a process more or less
resembling logic (i . e . , resembling the building up of tautology to create
theorems). In the process of thought , rigor is the analogue of internal co­
herence in evolution.
I n sum , the intracranial stochastic system of thought or learning
closely resembles that component of evolution in which random genetic
changes are selected by epigenesis. Finally, the cultural historian is
provided with a world in which formal resemblances persist through
many generations of cultural history, so that he can seek out such pat­
terns just as a zoologist searches for homologies.
Turning now to that other process of learning or creative
thought which involves not only the brain of the individual but also the
world around the organism , we find the analogue of that process of
evolution in which experience creates that relationship between creature
and environment which we call adaptation, by enforcing changes of habit
and soma.
Every action of the living creature involves some trial and error,
and for any trial to be new , it must be in some degree random . Even if
the new action is only a member of some well-explored class of actions,
it must still, by its very newness, become in some measure a validation
or exploration of the proposition "this is the way to do it. "
But in learning , as in somatic change , there are l imits and facili­
tations that select what can be learned. Some of these are external to the
organism; others are internal. In the first instance, what can be learned
at any given moment is limited or facilitated by what has previously
been learned. In fact , there is a learning to learn with an ultimate limit,
set by genetic constitution, to what can be immediately changed in
response to environmental necessity. There is a peeling off, at each step,
into genetic control (as noted in the discussion of somatic change in sec­
tion 4).
Finally , it I S necessary to put together the two stochastic pro­
cesses which I have separated for the sake of analysis. What formal rela­
tion exists between the two?
As I see it, the root of the matter lies in the contrast between the
digital and the analogic or, in another language , between the name and
the process that is named .
But naming is itself a process and one that occurs not only in our
analyses but profoundly and significantly within the systems we attempt
to analyze. Whatever the coding and mechanical relation between DNA
and the phenotype, DNA is still in some way a body of injunctions
demanding-and in this sense, naming-the relations which shall be­
come apparent in the phenotype.
And when we admit naming as a phenomenon occurring in and
organizing the phenomena we study, we acknowledge ipso facto that in
those phenomena, we expect hierarchies of logical typing .
So far we can go with Russell and Principia. But we are not now
in Russell's world of abstract logic or mathematics and cannot accept an
empty hierarchy of names or classes. For the mathematician , it is all very
well to speak of names of names of names or of classes of dasses of dasses. But
for the scientist, this empty world is insufficient . We are trying to deal
with an interlocking or interaction of digital (i . e . , naming) and analogic
steps. The process of naming is itself nameable, and this fact compels us to
substitute an alternation for the simple ladder of logical types that Prin­
cipia would propose.
In other words , to recombine the two stochastic systems into
which I have divided both evolution and mental process for the sake of
analysis , I shall have to see the two as alternating. What in Principia ap­
pears as a ladder made of steps that are all alike (names of names of
names and so on) will become an alternation of two species of steps . To
get from the name to the name of the name., we must go through the process
of naming the name. There must always be a generative process whereby
the classes are created before they can be named.
This very large and complex matter will be the subject of
Chapter 7 .
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,
Sh(}UI me.
-SONG FROM My Fair Lady,
I n Chapter 3 , the reader was invited to contemplate a
mixed batch of cases illustrating the near platitude that
two descriptions are better than one. This series of cases
ended with my description of what I regard as explana­
�. lion. I asserted that at least one kind of explanation con­
sists in supplementing the description of a process or set of phenomena
with an abstract tautology onto which the description could be mapped .
There may be other sorts of explanation , or it may be the case that all
explanation in the end boils down to something like my definition .
It is surely the case that the brain contains no material objects
other than its own channels and switchways and its own metabolic
supplies and that all this material hardware never enters the narratives of
the mind. Thought can be about pigs or coconuts, but there are no pigs
or coconuts 10 the brain; and in the mind, there are no neurons , only
ideas of pigs and coconuts. There is, therefore, always a certain comple­
mentarity between the mind and the matters of its computation. The
process of coding or representation that substitutes the idea of pigs or
coconuts for the things is already a step , even a vast jump , in logical
typing . The name is not the thing named , and the idea of pig is not the
Even if we think of some larger circuit systems extending beyond
the limits of the skin and call these systems mind, including within mind
the man , his ax, the tree that he is fellipg , and the cut in the side of the
tree; '*' even if all this be seen as a single system of circuits that meet the
criteria of mind offered in Chapter 4; even so, there is no tree, no man,
no ax in the mind. All these "objects" are only represented in the larger
mind in the form of images and news of themselves . We may say that
they propose themselves or propose their own characteristics.
In any case, it seems to me to be profoundly true that something
like the relation which I have suggested between tautology and the mat­
ters to be explained obtains throughout the entire field of our inquiry.
The very first step from pigs and coconuts into the world of coded ver­
sions plunges the thinker into an abstract and, I believe, a tautological
universe. It is all very well to define explanation as "setting tautology
and description side by side. " This is only the beginning of the matter
and would restrict explanation to the human species . Surely the dogs
and cats , we might say , just accept things as they are, without all that
ratiocination. But no. The thrust of my argument is that the very pro­
cess of perception is an act of logical typing . Every image is a complex of
many-leveled coding and mapping. And surely the dogs and cats have
their visual images. When they look at you, surely they see "you . "
When a flea bites , surely the dog has an image of an "itch , " located
"there. "
It still remains, of course, to apply this generalization to the
realm of biological evolution. Before attempting that task, however, it is
necessary to expand on the relationship between form and process , creat­
ing the notion ofform as an analogue of what I have been calling tautol• See
an Ecology of Mind, page 458.
ogy and process as the analogue of the aggregate of phenomena to be
explained. As form is to process, so tautology is to description.
This dichotomy, which obtains in our own scientific minds as we
look "out" upon a world of phenomena, is characteristic also of rela­
tionships among the very phenomena which we seek to analyze. The di­
chotomy exists on both sides of the fence between us and our subjects of
discourse. The things-in-themselves (the Dinge an sich), which are inac­
cessible to direct inquiry, have relationships among themselves compara­
ble to those relations that obtain between them and us. They, too (even
those that are alive) , can have no direct experience of each other-a mat­
ter of very great significance and a necessary first postulate for any under­
standing of the living world . What is crucial is the presupposition that
ideas (in some very wide sense of that word) have a cogency and reality.
They are what we can know, and we can know nothing else. The regu­
larities or "laws" that bind ideas together-these are the "verities . "
These are as close as we can get to ultimate truth.
As a first step toward making this thesis intelligible, I will
describe the process of my own analysis of a New Guinea culture. '*'
The work I had done in the field was shaped in no small degree
by the arrival in New Guinea of a copy of the manuscript of Ruth
Benedict's Patterns of Culture and by collaboration in the field with
Margaret Mead and Reo Fortune. Margaret's theoretical conclusions
from her fieldwork were published as Sex and Temperament in Three Primi­
tive Societies. t The reader who is interested in dissecting out the story of
the theoretical ideas in more detail is referred to my Naven, to Mead's
Sex and Temperament, and of course, to Benedict's seminal Patterns of Cul­
ture. '*' '*'
Benedict had attempted to construct a typology of cultures using
such terms as Apollonian, Dionysian, and paranoid. In Sex and Temperament
and in Naven, the emphasis is shifted from characterization of cultural
configurations to an attempt to characterize persons , the members of the
cultures we had studied . We still used terms related to those which
Benedict had used. Indeed , her typologies were borrowed from the lan• See Gregory Bateso n ,
Naven, 1936. Reprint. Stanford , Calif. : Stanford University Press, 1958.
" New York: Houghton Mifflin & Co. , 1934.
t New York: William Morrow & Co. ,
guage of the description of persons. I devoted a whole chapter of Naven
to an attempt to use Kretschmer's old classification of persons into
"cyclothyme" * and "schizothyme" temperaments . I treated this typol­
ogy as an abstract map onto which I d issected my descriptions of Iatmul
men and women.
This dissection and especially the fact of differentiating the typ­
ing of the sexes , which would have been foreign to the ideas of Patterns
/ Culture,
led away from typology and into questions of process. It be­
came natural to look at the Iatmul data as exemplifying those interac­
tions between men and women which would create in the men and
women that differentiation of ethos which was the base of my typology
of persons . I looked to see how the behavior of the men might promote
and determine that of the women, and vice versa.
In other words , I proceeded from a classification or typology to a
study of the processes that generated the differences summarized in the
typology 0/ process. I
labeled the processes with the general term schismogenesis, and having put
a label on the processes , I went on to a classification of them . It became
But the next step was from process to a
clear that a fundamental dichotomy was possible. The processes of in­
teraction that shared
the general potentiality of promoting schis­
mogenesis ( i . e . , first determining character within the individuals and
beyond that creating intolerable stress) were, in fact , classifiable into two
great genera: the symmetric and the complementary . I applied the term
to all those forms of interaction that could be described in
terms of competition, rivalry, mutual emulation, and so on (i . e . , those
in which A's action of a given kind would stimulate B to action of the
same kind , which , in turn, would stimulate A to further similar actions.
And so on. If A engaged in boasting , this would stimulate B to further
boasting , and vice versa. )
I n contrast , I applied the term
to i nteractional
sequences in which the actions of A and B were different but mutually
fitted each other (e . g . , dominance-submission , exhibition-spectatorship,
.. These almost obsolete terms were derived from the contrast between manic depressive and schizo­
Cyclothyme denoted the temperament of those who, according to Kretschmer,
schizothyme denoted the temperament of potential
schizophrenics. See Kretschmer's Physique and Character, English translation 192 5 , and my Naven,
1936, Chapter 1 2 .
phrenic psychosis.
were prone to manic depressive psychosis, while
dependence-nurturance). I noted that these paired relationships could
likewise be schismogenic (e. g . , that dependency might promote nur­
turance, and vice versa).
At this point, I had a classification or typology, not of persons,
but ofprocesses, and it was natural to swing from this classification to ask
about what might be generated by interaction among the named pro­
cesses. What would happen when symmetrical rivalry (which by itself
would generate symmetrical schismogenesis of excessive competition) was
mixed with complementary dependency-nurturance?
Sure enough , there were fascinating interactions between the
named processes . It turned out that the symmetrical and complementary
themes of interaction are mutually negating (i. e . , have mutually op­
posite effects on relationship), so that when complementary schis­
mogenesis (e. g . , dominance-submission) has gone uncomfortably far, a
little competition will relieve the strain; conversely , when competition
has gone too far, a little dependency will be a comfort.
Later, under the rubric of end-linkage, * I investigated some of the
possible permutations of combined complementary themes. It developed
that a difference in premises, almost in choreography, between English
and American middle-class cultures is related to the fact that specta­
torship is preponderantly a filial function in England (i . e. , is l inked with
dependency and submission) and preponderantly a parental function
in America (i . e . , is linked with nurturance and dominance) .
That has all been spelled out elsewhere. What is important 1 0
the present context is to note that my procedures of inquiry were punc­
tuated by an alternation between classification and the description of
process . I had proceeded , without conscious planning, up an alternating
ladder from description to the vocabulary of typology. But this typing of
persons led back into a study of the processes by which the persons got
that way. These processes were then classified into types of process types
in their turn, were named by me. The next step was from the typing of
process to study the interactions between the classified processes. This
zigzag ladder between typology on one side and the study of process on
the other is mapped in Figure 10.
• Bateson, G . "Regularities and Differences in National Character" i n Watson, G. ,
(Boston: Houghton Mifflin , 1942). Reprinted in
Civilian Morale
Steps to an Ecology 0/ Mind (New York: Ballantine,
I nte raction
Types of themes
of i nteraction ....
T "
Typology of
' "
I nteractio n s
dete r m i n i n g
of actions
Figure Z O . Levels of analysis of Iatmul culture. The arrows mark the direction of m y argument.
I shaH now argue that the relations implicit or immanent in the
events of the personal story I have just told (i.e. , the zigzag sequence of
steps from form to process and back to form) provide a very powerful ·.
paradigm for the mapping of many phenomena, some of which have al­
ready been mentioned.
I shaH argue that this paradigm is not limited to a personal Oll('- '
rative of how a particular piece of theory came to be built, but that it
recurs again and again wherever mental process as defined in Chapter 4 .
predominates in the organization of the phenomena. In other words.
when we take the notion of logical typing out of the field of abstract ·
logic and start to map real biological events onto the hierarchies of thi,.
paradigm , we shall immediately encounter the fact that in the world
mental and biological systems , the hierarchy is not only a list of c
classes of classes , and classes of classes of classes but has also become . ,
zigzag ladder of dialectic between form and process.
I shall further suggest that the very nature of perception follows
th is paradigm; that learning is to be modeled on the same sort of zigzag
paradigm; that in the social world , the relation between love and mar­
riage or education and status necessarily follow a similar paradigm; that
in evolution , the relation between somatic and phylogenetic change and
the relation between the random and the selected have this zigzag form .
I shall suggest that similar relations obtain at a more abstract level be­
tween speciation and variation , between continuity and d iscontinuity
and between number and quantity.
In other words, I am proposing that the relationship , which is
rather ambiguously outlined in my story about analyzing a New Guinea
culture, is, in fact, a relationship that will resolve a very large number of
ancient puzzles and controversies in the fields of ethics , education , and
evolutionary theory.
I begin from a discrimination l owe to Horst Mittelstaedt, who
pointed out that there are two sorts of methods of perfecting an adaptive
act. ;; Let us suppose that the act is the shooting of a bird. In the first
case , this is to be done with a rifle. The marksman will look along the
sights of his rifle and will note an error in its aim . He will correct that
error, perhaps creating a new error which again he will correc t , until he
is satisfied. He will then press the trigger and shoot.
What is significant is that the act of self-correction occurs within
the single act of shooting. Mittelstaedt uses the term feedback to charac­
terize this whole genus of methods of perfecting an adaptive act .
I n contrast, consider the case of the man who i s shooting a flying
bird with a shotgun or who uses a revolver held under the table where he
cannot correct its aim . In such cases, what must happen is that an
aggregate of information is taken in through sense organs; that upon this
information , computation is completed; and that upon the (approximate)
result of that computation , the gun is fired . There is no possibility of
error correction in the single act . To achieve any improvement, correc­
tion must be performed upon a large class of actions . The man who
Woul d acquire skill with a shotgun or in the art of shooting pistols under
the table must practice his art again and again, shooting at skeet or
• l ow
e the first step towards this insight to Mitrelstaedt's presentation in 1 960 of his study of how
a pray ing mantis catches flies. See "The Analysis of Behavior i n Terms of Control Systems" in
Transactions 0/ the Fifth Conference on Group Process (New York: Josiah Macy, Jr. , Foundation, 1960).
1 95
some dummy target. By long practice, he must adjust the setting of his
nerves and muscles so that in the critical event , he will "automatically"
give an optimum performance. This genus of methods Mittelstaedt calls
It seems that, in these cases , "cal ibration" is related to "feed­
back" as higher logical type is related to lower. This relation is indicated
by the fact that self-correction in the use of the shotgun is necessarily ,
possible only from information derived from practice (i . e . , from a class of
past , completed actions).
It is, of course, true that skill in the use of the rifle can be
increased by practice. The components of action that are so improved are
common to the use of both rifle and shotgun. With practice, the marks.
man will improve his stance, learn to press the trigger without disturb.. ,
ing his aim , learn to synchronize his moment of firing with the moment ,
of correcting his aim so that he does not overcorrect , and so on. These , '
components of rifle shooting depend for improvement o n practice and
that calibration of nerve, muscle, and breathing which information from
a class of completed actions will provide.
With respect to aim , however, the contrast of logical typing
follows from the contrast between single instance and class of in­
stances. It also appears that what Mittelstaedt calls calibration is a case
of what I call form or classification and that his feedback is comparable to
my process .
The next obvious question concerns the relation between the
three dichotomies: form-process , calibration-feedback, and higher-lower
logical type. Are these synonymous? I shall argue that form-process and
calibration-feedback are indeed mutually synonymous but that the rela,
tion between higher and lower logical type is more complex. From what '
has already been said, it is clear both that structure may determine prO" •
cess and that, conversely , process may determine structure. I t follows
that there must be a relation between two levels of structure mediated ' .
by an intervening description of process. I believe that this is the ana­
logue in the real world of Russell's abstract step from class to class of' , .
Let uS consider the relation between feedback and calibration i n a:
hierarchic example such as is provided by the temperature control in
dwelling house equipped with furnace , thermostat , and human resident ,
(see Figure 1 1).
stat u s , etc.
L '/
Genetics and
t rai n i n g of
Personal ...
"Too cold" or
"Too hot"
B ias
Osc i l lating
tem peratu res
Figure 1 1 . LeveIJ of Control of HouJe Temperature. The arrOWJ mark the direction of control.
At the lowest level , there is the temperature. This actual tem­
perature from moment to moment (a process) affects a thermometer (a sort
of sense organ) that is connected to the whole system in such a way that
the temperature, as expressed by the bending of a double metal plate,
will make or break an electric connection (a switch, a calibration) that
controls the furnace. When the temperature rises above a certain point,
the switch will be changed to the state called "OFF"; when the tempera­
ture falls below some lower point , the swi tch will be changed to .. ON" .
The house will thus oscillate around some temperature between the two
threshold points . At this level, the system is a simple, servo circuit such
as I described in Chapter 4 .
However , this simple feedback circuit is controlled by a calibra_
tion housed in the same small box that contains the thermometer. On
the box is a knob that the householder can turn to change the setting , or
bias, of the thermostat to a different temperature around which the tem­
perature of the house will oscillate. Note that two calibrations have their
location in the box: There is the control of state, ON/OFF, and the con­
trol of HIGHhow temperature around which the system will operate . If
the former mean temperature was 650 F . , the owner of the house may
say, "It's been too cold lately. " He will j udge from a sample of his expe­
riences and then change the setting to some temperature which will
perhaps seem more comfortable. The bias (the calibration of the feed­
back) is itself governed by a feedback whose sense organ is located, not
on the living room wall , but in the skin of the man .
But the man's bias-usually called his threshold-is, in turn, set
by a feedback system. He may become more tolerant of cold as a result
of hardship or exposure; he may become less tolerant as a result of
prolonged residence in the tropics. He might even say to himself, ''I'm
getting toO soft , " and engage in outdoor training that will alter his
calibration. Beyond that, what makes the man engage in special training
or exposure to cold might be a change in status. He might become a
monk or a soldier and thus become calibrated to a named social status.
In other words, the feedbacks and the calibrations alternate in a
hierarchic sequence. Note that with each completed alternation (from
calibration to calibration or from feedback to feedback) , the sphere of
relevance that we are analyzing has increased. At the simplest, lowest
end of the zigzag ladder, the sphere of relevance was a furnace , ON or
OFF; at the next level , a house oscillating around a certain temperature .
At the next level , that temperature could be changed within a sphere of
relevance that now included house plus resident over a much longer
time, during which the man engaged in various outside activities .
With each zigzag of the ladder, the sphere of relevance increases.
In other words, there is a change in logical typing of the information
collected by the sense organ at each level.
Let us consider another example: A driver of an automobile
travels at 70 miles per hour and thereby alerts the sense organ (radar,
perhaps) of a traffic policeman. The bias or threshold of the policeman
dictates that he shall respond to any difference greater than 10 miles per
hour above or below the speed limit.
The policeman's bias was set by the local chief of police, who
acted self-correctively with his eye on orders (i .e. , calibration) received
from the state capital .
The state capital acted self-correctively with the legislators' eyes
on their voters . The voters , in turn , set a calibration within the legisla­
ture in favor of Democratic or Republican policy.
Agai n , we note an alternating ladder of calibration and feedback
up to larger and larger spheres of relevance and more and more abstract
information and wider decision.
Notice that within the system of police and law enforcement ,
and indeed in all hierarchies, it is most undesirable to have direct con­
tact between levels that are nonconsecutive. It is not good for the total
organization to have a pipeline of communication between the driver of
the automobile and the state police chief. Such communication is bad for
the morale of the police force . Nor is it desirable for the policeman to
have direct access to the legislature, which would undermine the author­
ity of the police chief.
To jump downward two or more steps in the hierarchy is like­
wise undesirable. The policeman should not have direct control over the
accelerator or the brake system of the automobile.
The effect of any such jumping of levels, upward or downward ,
is that information appropriate as a basis for decision at one level will be
used as basis for decision at some other level , a common variety of error
in logical typing.
In legal and administrative systems, such jumping of logical
levels is called ex post facto legislation. In families , the analogous errors
are called double binds. In genetics, the Weissmannian barrier which
prevents the inheritance of acquired characteristics seems to prevent d i­
sasters of this nature. To permit direct influence from somatic state to
genetic structure might destroy the hierarchy of organization within the
When we compare learning to shoot with a rifle with learning to
shoot with a shotgun, another complication is introduced into the sim­
ple abstract paradigm of Russell's hierarchy of logical types. Both opera­
ti ons include cybernetic , self-corrective sequences. But the systemic dif­
ference between them is immediately evident when the sequences are
viewed as contexts of learning .
The case of the rifle is comparatively simple. The error to be cor­
rected (i . e . , the information to be used) is the difference between the aim
of the barrel and the direction of the target as disclosed by the alignment
of sight and target. The marksman may have to go round and round this
circuit many times, receiving news of error, correcting , receiving news
of new error , correcting , receiving news of zero or minimal error, and
firing .
But note that the marksman does not-or need not-carry for­
ward news about what happened in the first round into his computation
in the next round . The only relevant information is the error of the im­
mediate moment. He does not need to change himself.
The man with a shotgun is in an entirely different position. For
him , there is no separation between aim and firing that might allow him
to correct his aim before he presses the trigger. * The aiming-and-firing,
hyphenated , is a single act whose success or failure must be carried
forward as information to the next act of firing . The entire operation
must be improved, and therefore the entire operation is the subject mat­
ter of the information .
At the next act of shooting , the marksman must compute his ac­
tion on the basis of the position of the new target plus information about
what he did in the previous round of the cybernetic circuit plus informa­
tion about the outcome of those actions.
In the third round of the circuit with another target, he should
ideally use information about the difference between what happened in
the first round and what happened in the second round . He might use
the information at a nonverbal , kinesthetic level , saying to himself in
muscular imagery, "that's what it felt like to overcorrect. "
The rifleman simply goes round his cybernetic circuit a number
of separate times; the man with a shotgun must accumulate his skill ,
packing his successive experiences, like Chinese boxes , each within the
context of information derived from all previous relevant experiences. t
,. I myself was taught to shoot during World War II, using an army automatic. The instructor had
me stand with my hack to a big rree and about six feet from it. My right hand had a grip on the
weapon in its holster on my hip. I was to jump and rum as I jumped, raising the automatic and fir­
ing before my feet reached the ground . Preferably the bullet should hit the rree, but the speed and
smoothness of the whole operation was more important than the accuracy.
t To ask about criteria of relevance would take us far afield into problems of contextual and other
levels of learning.
. ,
.' "
From this paradigm , it appears that the idea of "logical typing ,"
when transplanted from the abstract realms inhabited by mathemat­
icological philosophers to the hurly-burly of organisms , takes on a very
different appearance. Instead of a hierarchy of classes , we face a hierarchy
of orders of recursiveness.
The question which I am asking of these instances of calibration
and feedback concerns the necessity of differentiating between the two
concepts in the real world . In the longer chains of description of house
thermostat and law enforcement , is it so that the phenomena themselves
contain (are characterized by) such a dichotomy of organization? Or is
that dichotomy an artifact of my description? Can such chains be
imagined without an immanent alternation of feedback and calibration?
Is it perhaps so that such an alternation is basic to the way in which the
world of adaptive action is put together? Should the characteristics of
mental process (see Chapter 4) be extended to include terms of calibra­
tion and feedback?
There will surely be people who prefer to believe that the world is
preponderantly punctuated by calibration , those typologists who, ac­
cording to Ernst Mayr, can never understand natural selection. And
there will be others who see only process or feedback.
Notably , Heraclitus , with his famous statement " into the same
river no man can step twice , " would be delighted by contemplation of
the man with the shotgun. He might correctly say, "No man can shoot
twice with a shotgun ," because at every shooting , it will be a different
man , differently calibrated. But later, remembering his dictum that ev­
erything flows; nothing is stationary , Heraclitus might turn around and
deny the very existence of all calibration . After all , to be still is the es­
sence of calibration. The still point is the setting of the turning world.
I believe that the resolution of this question depends upon our
ideas of the nature of time (as also, the Russellian paradoxes of abstrac­
tion are resolved by the i ntroduction of time into the argument; see
Chapter 4).
The ongoing business of learning to shoot with a shotgun is nec­
essarily discontinuous because the information about the self (i. e. , the in­
formation required for calibration) can be harvested only after the mo­
ment of firing . Indeed, the firing of the gun is to the handling of it as
the hen is to the egg . Samuel Butler's famous jest that the hen is an
20 1
egg's way of making another egg should be corrected to say that the
hen's later success in raising a family is the test of whether the egg from
which she hatched was really a good egg. If the pheasant fall s , the gun
was well handled , the man well calibrated.
This view makes the process of learning to handle a gun neces­
sarily discontinuous. The learning can occur only in separate increments
at the successive moments of firing.
Similarly, the system of thermostatic control of the temperature
of the house and the system of law enforcement are necessarily discontin_
uous for reasons connected with time. If any event is to depend upon
some characteristic of a multiple sample of some other species of event,
time must elapse for the accumulation of that sample, and this elapsed
time will punctuate the dependent event to produce a discontinuity.
But , of course, there would be no such "samples" in a world of purely
physical causation. Samples are artifacts of description, creatures of
mind , and shapers of mental process.
A world of sense, organization , and communication is not con­
ceivable without discontinuity, without threshold . If sense organs can ' ·.
receive news only of difference, and if neurons either fire or or do not
fire, then threshold becomes necessarily a feature of how the living and
mental world is put together.
Chairoscuro is all very well , but William Blake tells us firmly •
that wise men see outlines and therefore they draw them .
0, reason not the need: our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
Allow not nature more than nature needs ,
Man's life is cheap as beast's.
. ,
So what? You tell us about a few strong presuppositions and
great stochastic systems. And from that we should go on to
imagine how the world is? ButFATHER: Oh, no. I also told you something about the limitations of
imagining. So you should know that you cannot imagine the
world as it is. (And why stress that little word?)
And I told you something about the self-validating power of
ideas: that the world partly becomes----c omes to be--how it is
DAUGHTER: Is that evolution , then? That going-on shifting and sliding
of ideas to make all the ideas agree? But they never can.
FATHER: Yes , indeed . It all shifts and swirls around the verities. "Five
plus seven will continue to equal twelve. " In the world of ideas ,
so WHAT'
numbers will still be in contrast with quantitIes. People wi ll
probably go on using numerals as names both for quantities and
for numbers. And they'll go on being misled by their own bad
habits. And so on. But, yes , your image of evolution is exaCt.
And what Darwin called "natural selection" is the surfacing of
the tautology or presupposition that what stays true longer does
indeed stay true longer than what stays true not so long .
DAUGHTER: Yes , I know you love reciting that sentence. But do the
verities stay true forever? And are these things you call verities all
FATHER: Wai t , wait. There are at least three questions all tied tog ether.
First, no. Our opinions about the verities are surely l iable to
Second, whether the verities that Saint Augustine called eternal
verities are true forever apart from our opinions, I cannot know.
DAUGHT ER: But can you know if it's all tautological?
FATHER: No, of course not. But if the question is once asked, I cannot
avoid having an opinion.
DAUGHTER: Well , is it?
FATHE R : Is it what?
DAUGHT ER: Tautological?
FATHER: All right. My opinion is that the Creatura, the world of mental
process, is both tautolog ical and ecological. I mean that it is a
slowly self-healing tautology. Left to itself, any large piece of
Creatura will tend to settle toward tautology, that is, toward in­
ternal consistency of ideas and processes. Bur every now and then,
the consistency gets torn; the tautology breaks up l ike the sur­
face of a pond when a stone is thrown into it. Then the tautology
slowly but immediately starts to heal . And the healing may be .
ruthless. Whole species may be exterminated in the process.
DAUGHT ER: But , Daddy, you could make consistency out of the idea
that it always starts to heal.
FATHER: SO, the tautology is not broken; it's only pushed up to the next
level of abstraction , the next logical type. That's so.
But how many levels are there?
No , that I cannot know . I cannot know whether it is ulti-
F AT H E R :
mately a tautology nor how many logical levels it has. I am inside
it and therefore cannot know its outer limits-if it has any.
I think it's gloomy. What's the point of it all?
FATHE R : No, no. If you were in love, you would not ask that question.
DAUGHTE R : You mean that love is the point?
FATH ER: But again , no. I was saying no to your question, not answering
it. It's a question for an occidental industrialist and an engineer.
This whole book is about the wrongness of that quest ion.
DAUGHTER: You never said that in the book.
FATH ER : There are a million things I never said. But I'll answer your
question. It has a million-an infinite number-of "points ," as
you call them .
DAUGHTE R : But that's like having no point-Daddy , is it a sphere?
FATH ER: Ah, all right. That will do for a metaphor. A multidimensional
sphere, pethaps .
DAUGHTER: Hmm-a self-healing tautology , which is also a sphere, a
multidimensional sphere.
So what?
FATHER: But I keep telling you: There is no "what. " A million points or
DA UGHTER: Then why write this book?
FATH ER : That's different. This book, or you and me talking , and so
on-these are only little pieces of the bigger universe. The total
self-healing tautology has no "points" that you can enumerate .
But when you break it up into little pieces, that's another story.
"Purpose" appears as the universe is dissected. What Paley called
"design" and Darwin called "adaptation . "
DA UGHTER: Just an artifact of dissection? But what's dissection for? This
whole book is a dissection. What's it for?
F AT HER: Yes , it's partly dissection and partly synthesis . And I suppose
that under a big enough macroscope, no idea can be wrong, no
purpose destructive, no dissection misleading.
You said that we only make the parts of any whole.
: No, I said that parts are useful when we want to describe
So you want to describe wholes? But when you' ve done
what then?
All right, let's say we live, as I said , in a self-healing t autology
that is more or less often getting torn more or less badly. That
seems to be how it is in our neighborhood of space-time. I guess
some tearing of the taurological ecological system is even-in a
way-good for it. Its capacity for self-healing may need to be ex­
ercized , as Tennyson says , "lest one good custom should corrupt
the world. "
And , of course, death has that positive side. However good the
man, he becomes a toxic nuisance if he stays around too long.
The blackboard , where all the information accumulates, must be
wiped off, and the pretty lettering on it must be reduced to ran­
dom chalky dust.
DAUGHTER: ButFATHER: And so on . There are subcycles of living and dying within the
bigger, more enduring ecology. But what shall we say of the
death of the larger system? Our biosphere? Perhaps under the eye
of heaven or Shiva, it doesn't matter. But it's the only one we
DAUGHTE R : But your book is a part of it .
FATHE R : Of course it is . But, yes , I see what you mean , and of course
you are right. Neither the deer nor the mountain l ion needs an
excuse for being, and my book, too, as part of the biosphe re,
needs no excuses . Even if I 'm all wrong!
Can the deer or the mountain lion be wrong?
FATH E R : Any species can get into an evolutionary cul-de-sac , and I s up­
pose it is a mistake of sorts for that species to be a party to its
own extinction . The human species , as we all know , ,nay extin­
guish itself any day now .
So what? Why write the book?
re all
FATH E R : And there is some pride in it, toO, a feel ing that if we a
going down to the sea like lemmings , there should lJe at le
one lemming taking notes and saying , " I told you so · To be- '
l ieve that
could stop the race to the ocean would be even more
arrogant than saying, "I told you so . "
I think you are talking nonsense , Daddy . I don' t see you as
the only intelligent lemming taking notes on the self-destruction
of the others . It's not l ike you-so there . Nobody is going to
buy a book by a sardonic lemming .
Oh , yes . It's nice to have a book sell , but always a surprise , I
gues s . Anyhow that's not what we are talking about . (And you'd
be surprised at how many books by sardonic lemmings do , in
fact , sell very nicely . )
So what?
For me , after fifty years of pushing these ideas about, it has
slowly become clear that muddleheadedness is not necessary .
have always hated muddleheadedness and always thought it was
a necessary condition for religion. But it seems that that is not
Oh , is
what the book is about?
You see , they preach
faith .
and they preach
But I
You could say that faith and surrender were
necessary to maintain the search for clarity . But I have tried to
avoid the sort of faith that would cover up the gaps in the clar­
ity .
Go on.
Well , there were turning po ints . One of them was when I saw
that the Fraserian idea of magic was upside down or inside out.
You know , the conventional view is that religion evolved out of
magic, but I think it was the other way around-that magic is a
sort of degenerate religion .
SO what do you
believe ?
Wel l , for example , I do not believe that the original purpose of
the rain dance was to make "it" rain. I suspect that that is a
degenerate m isunderstanding of a much more profound religious
need: to affirm membership in what we may call the
the eternal verities of life and environment .
There's always a tendency-almost a need-to vulgarize re­
ligion , to turn it into entertainment or politics or magic or
DAUGHTE R : And ESP? And materialization? And out-of-body experi­
ence? And spiritualism ?
FATHE R : All symptoms, mistaken attempts at cute efforts to escape from
a crude materialism that becomes intolerable. A miracle I S a
materialist's idea of how to escape from his materialism .
Is there no escape ? I don't understand.
FATHE R : Oh, yes . But, you see , magic is really only a sort of pseudosci­
ence. And like applied science, it always proposes the possibility
of control. So you don't get away from all that way of thought by
sequences into which that way of thinking is already built-in.
DAUGHTE R : So how do you get away?
FAT H E R: Ah, yes . The reply to crude materialism is not miracles but
beauty-or, of course , ug liness . A small piece of Beethoven
symphony , a single Goldberg variation , a single organism , a cat
or a cactus, the twenty-ninth sonnet or the Ancient Mariner's
sea snakes . You remember he "blessed them, unaware , " and the
Albatross then fell from his neck into the sea.
But you didn't write that book. That's the one you should
have written. The one about the Albatross and the Symphony.
FATHE R : Ah, yes . But, you see, I couldn't do that. This book had to be
done first . Now, after all the discussion of mind and tautology
and immanent differences and so on , I am beginning to be ready
for symphonies and albatrosses. . . .
FATHER: No, you see it's not possible to map beauty-and-ugliness onto a
flat piece of paper. Oh yes, a drawing may be beautiful and on
flat paper but that's not what I'm talking about. The question is
onto what surface shall a theory of aesthetics be mapped? If you
ask me that question today I could attempt an answer. But not
two years ago when this book was still unwritten.
DAUGHTER: All right . So today how would you answer?
2 10
And then there's comciousness which I have not touched-or
touched only once or twice-in this book . Consciousness and
aesthetics are the great untouched questions .
DAUGHTER: But whole rooms in libraries are full of books about those
"untouched" questions.
FATHER: No, no. What is untouched is the question: Onto what sort of
surface shall "aesthetics" and "consciousness" be mapped?
DAUGHTER: I don't understand.
FATHER: I mean something like this: That both "consciousness" and
"aesthetics" (whatever those words mean) are either character­
istics present in all minds (as defined in this book) , or they are
spinoffs-Iate fancy creations from such minds. In either case, it
is the primary definition of mind that has to accommodate the
theories of aesthetics and consciousness . It's onto that primary
definition that the next step must be mapped . The terminology
to deal with beauty-ugliness and the terminology for conscious­
ness have got to be elaborated out of (or mapped onto) the ideas
in the present book or similar ideas. It's that simple.
FATHER: Yes. Simple. I mean the proposition that that is what must be
done is simple and clear. I don't mean that the doing will be
Well . H ow would you begin?
II n'y a que Ie premier pas qui coute. It's the first step that is dif­
DAUGHTE R: All right . Never mind about that . Where would you begin?
There has to be a reason why these questions have never been
answered. I mean, we might take that as our first clue to the
answer-the historical fact that so many men have tried and not
succeeded. The answer must be somehow hidden. It must be so:
That the very posing of these questions always gives a false scent,
leading the questioner off on a wild goose chase. A red herring .
FATHER: SO let's look at the "schoolboy" truisms that I have put
':,; , "
"� .
1' :
, '"
together in this book to see if one or more of those could h ide
answers to the questions of consciousness or aesthetics. I 'm sure
that a person or a poem or a pot . . . or a landscape .
DAUGHTER: Why don't you make a l ist of what you call the "schoolboy"
points? Then we could try the ideas , "consciousness" and
"beauty" on the list.
Here is a l ist. First there were the six criteria of mind (Chapter
1. Made of parts which are not themselves mental.
"Mind" is immanent in certain sorts of organization of parts.
2 . The parts are triggered by events in time. Differences
though static in the outside world can generate events if you
move in relation to them .
3 . Collateral energy. The stimulus (being a difference)
may provide no energy but the respondent has energy, usually
provided by metabolism .
4 . Then causes-and-effects form into circular (or more
complex) chains.
5. All messages are coded.
6. And last, most important , there is the fact of logical
typing .
Those are all fairly well-defined points and they support each
other pretty well. Perhaps the list is redundant and could be
reduced , but that's not important at this moment. Beyond those
five points, there is the remainder of the book. And that is about
different sorts of what I called double description and ranging from
binocular vision to the combined effect of the "great" stochastic
processes and the combined effect of "calibration" and "feed­
back . " Or call it "rigor and imagination" or "thought and aC­
tion .
That's all .
All right. So where would you attach the phenomena of
beauty and ugliness and consciousness?
2 12
And don't forget the sacred. That's another matter that was not
dealt with in the book .
DAUGHTER: Please, Daddy. Don ' t do that. When we get near to asking
a question, you jump away from it. There's always another ques­
tion it seems. If you could answer one question. Just one.
FATHE R : No. You don' t understand . What does e.e. cummings say?
"Always the more beautiful answer who asks the more diffic ult
question . " Something l ike that. You see I am not asking another
question each time. I am making the same question bigger. The
sacred (whatever that means) is surely related (somehow) to the
beautiful (whatever that means). And if we could say how they
are related , we could perhaps say what the words mean. Or
perhaps that would never be necessary. Every time we add a
related piece to the question , we get more clues to what sort of
answer we should expect.
DAUGHTER: SO now we have six pieces of the question?
DAUGHTER: Yes. It was two at the beginning of this conversation . Now
it's six. There's consciousness , and beauty and the sacred , and
then there's the relation between consciousness and beauty , and
the relation between beauty and the sacred , and the relation be­
tween the sacred and consciousness . That makes six .
FATHER: No. Seven . You're forgetting the book. All your six make up
together a triangular sore of question and that triangle is to be
related to what's in this book.
DAUGHTER: All right. Go on. Please.
FATHER: I think I would like to call my next book "Where A ngels Fear to
Tread. " Everybody keeps wanting me to rush in. It is mon­
strous-vulgar, reductionist , sacreligious-call it what you
will-to rush in with an over-simplified question . It's a sin
against all three of our new principles . Against aesthetics and
against consciousness and against the sacred .
DAUGHTER: But where?
FATHER : Ah. Yes. That question proves the close relationship between
consciousness and beauty and the sacred. It is consciousness run­
ning around like a dog with its rongue out-literally cynicismFATHE R :
2 13
that asks the too simple question and shapes up the vulgar an­
swer. To be conscious of the nature of the sacred or of the nature
of beauty is the folly of reductionism.
DAUGHT ER : Is all that related to this book?
FATHER: Yes. Yes indeed it is. Chapter 4, the listing of the criteria, if it
stood alone , would be "gross , " as the kids say. A vulgar answer
to an oversimplified question. Or an oversimplified answer to a
vulgar question. But, precisely the elaboration of discussion
about "double description ," "structure and process , " and double
stochastic systems-that elaboration saves the book from vulgar­
ity. I hope so at least .
DAUGHTER: And the next book?
FATHER: Will start from a map of the region where angels fear to tread.
DAUGHTE R : A vulgar map?
FATHER: Perhaps . But I do not know what will follow the map and
enclose it in some wider and more difficult question .
--' J
I '
At the meeting of the Committee on Educational Policy , July
20, 1 97 8 , I remarked that current educational processes are a
"rip off, "
from the point of view of the student. The present
note is to explain this view.
It is a matter of obsolescence. While much that univer­
sities teach today is new and up to date, the presupposition or premises of
thought upon which all our teaching is based are ancient and, I assert,
I refer to such notions as:
a. The Cartesian dualism separating "mind" and "matter. "
b. The strange physicalism of the metaphors which we use to describe
and explain mental phenomena-"power, " "tension , " "energy , " "social forces ,"
c. Our anti-aesthetic assumption, borrowed from the emphasis which
Bacon , Locke, and Newton long ago gave to the physical sciences, viz. that all
2 17
phenomena (including the mental) can and shall be studied and
quantitative terms.
The view of the world-the latent and partly unconscious epistemology_
which such ideas together generate is out of date in three d ifferent ways :
a. Pragmatically, i t i s clear that these premises and their corollaries lead
to greed, monstrous over-growth, war , tyranny , and pollution. In this sense,
premises are daily demonstrated false, and the students are half aware of
the premises are obsolete in that systems theory , cyber­
netics, holistic medicine, ecology, and gestalt psychology offer demonstrably
better ways of understanding the world of biology and behaviour.
c. As a base for religion, such premises as I
clearly intolerable and therefore obsolete about 100 years
have mentioned became
ago. In the aftermath of
Darwinian evolution, this was stated rather clearly by such thinkers as Samuel
Butler and Prince K potkin . But already in the eighteenth century, William
Blake saw that the philosophy of Locke and Newton could only generate "dark
Satanic mill s . "
Necessarily every aspect of our civil ization i s split wide open. I n the
field of economics, we face twO overdrawn caricatures of l ife--the capitalist or
the communist-and we are told that we
take sides in the struggle be­
tween these two monstrous ideologies . In the business of thinking, we are torn
between various extremes of affectlessness and the strong current of anti­
intellectual fanaticism .
As in religion, the constitutional guarantees of "religious freedom" seem
to promote similar exaggerations: a strange, totally secular Protestantism ,
wide spectrum of magical cults , and total religious ignorance . It is no accident
that simultaneously the Roman Catholic Church is giving up the use of Latin,
while the rising generation is learning to chant in Sanskrit!
So, in this world of 1978 , we try to run a university and to maintain
standards of "excellence" in the face of growing
exploitation of resources, victimisation of persons,
distrust, vulgarity, insanity,
quick commercialism. .!�e
screaming voices of greed , frustration, fear, and hate.
It is understandable that the Board of Regents concentrates attention
upon matters which can be handled at a superficial level , avoiding the swamps
of all sorts of extremism. But I still think that the facts of deep obsolescence
will, in the end, compel attention.
As a technical school, we do pretty wel l . We can at least teach young
people to be engineers, doctors, lawyers. We can confer the skills which lead to
success in trades whose working philosophy is again the same old dualistic prag-
2 18
matism . And that is much. It is perhaps not the main duty and function of a
great university. . . .
But do not get the idea that the faculty and the administration and the
regents are the only obsoletes, while the students are wise and noble and up-to­
date. They are just as obsolete as we. We are all in the same boat, whose name is
" ONLY 197 8 , " the time which is out of joint. In 1979 we shall know a little
more by dint of rigor and imagination, the two great contraries of mental pro­
cess , either of which by itself is lethal . Rigor
alone is paralytic death, but imag- ..
-... ..
ination alone is insanity.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee agreed to have a battle; and isn't it a bless­
ing that the contrasting generations can agree that social "power" has physical
dimensions and can engage in battles for this strange abstraction. (In other
times and other places , battles were fought for "honor , " "beauty, " and even
"truth. " . . . )
Looking at the whole mess from another angle, I believe that the stu­
dents were right in the sixties: There was something very wrong in their educa­
tion and indeed in almost the whole culture. But I believe that they were wrong
in their diagnosis of where the trouble lay. They fought for "representation"
and "power. " On the whole, they won their battles and now we have student
representation on the Board of Regents and elsewhere. But it becomes increas­
ingly clear that the winning of these batrles for "power" has made no difference
in the educational process. The obsolescence to which I referred is unchanged
and , no doubt, in a few years we shall see the same battles , fought over the
same phoney issues, all over again.
There really is something deeply wrong . . . and I am not convinced
that what is wrong is a necessary tribulation about which nothing can be done.
A son of fre�dom .�0f!1e� from rec()�tn i zi.nIL�!!.a.� �s n�.E�s sarily �o . i\fJ�r
that is recognized, comes a know ledge of how to act . You can ride a bicycle
only after your partly unconscious reflexes acknowl edge the laws of its moving
I must now ask you to do some thinking more technical and more theo­
retical than is usually demanded of general boards in their perception of their
Own place in history. I see no reason why the regents of a great university
should share in the anti-intellectual preferences of the press or media. Indeed to
force these preferences upon them would be insulting.
I therefore propose to analyze the lopsided process called "obsolescence"
which we might more precisely call "one-sided progress . " Clearly for obsoles­
cence to occur there must be, in other parts of the system , other changes com­
pared with which the obsolete is somehow lagging or left behind . In a static
system , there would be no obsolescence!
2 19
It seems that there are two components in evolutionary process , and that
mental process similarly has a double structure. Let me use biological evolution
as a parable or paradigm to introduce what I want to say later about thought,
cultural change and education.
Survival >II depends upon two contrasting phenomena or processes, two
ways of achieving adaptive action. Evolution must always , Janus-like , face in
two directions: inward towards the developmental regularities and physiology of
the living creature and outward towards the vagaries and demands of the envi­
ronment . These two necessary components of life contrast in interesting ways:
the inner development-the embryology or " epigenesis"-is
demands that every new thing shall conform or be compatible with the regulari­
ties of the
status quo ante.
If we think of a natural selection of new features of
anatomy or physiology-then it is clear that one side of this selection process
will favor those new items which do not upset the old apple cart. This is
minimal necessary conservatism .
In contrast, the outside world is perpetually changing and becoming
ready to receive creatures which have undergone change , almost insisting upon
change. No animal or plant can ever be "ready made. " The internal recipe in­
sists upon compatibility but is never sufficient for the development and life of
the organism. Always the creature itself must achieve change of its own body.
It must acquire certain somatic characteristics by use, by disuse, by habit, by
hardship, and by nurture. These
"acquired characteristics"
must, however, never
be passed on to the offspring. They must not be directly incorporated into the
DNA. In organisational terms, the injunctio � . g . , to make babies with
strong shoulders who will work better in coal mines-must be transmitted
through channels,
and the channel in this case is
natural external selection of
those offspring who happen (thanks to the random shuffling of genes and random
creation of mutations) to have a greater propensity for developing stronger
shoulders under the stress of working in coal mines.
The individual body undergoes adaptive change under external pressure,
but natural selection acts upon the gene pool of the
But note this
principle which biologists commonly overlook, that it is an acquired character­
istic called
"working iIJ coal mines"
which sets the context for the selection of the
genetic changes called " increased propensity for developing stronger shoulders. "
The acquired characteristics d o not become unimportant by not being carried in
and passed on by DNA. It is still
which set the conditions for natural
And note this converse principle that the acquisition of bad habits , at a
• By survival , I mean the maintenance of a steady state through successive generations. Or, in nega- .
tive terms , I mean the avoidance of the death ofthe largeJt JYJtem about which we can care. Extinction of
the dinosaurs was trivial in galactic terms but this is no comfort to them . We cannot cate much
about the inevitable survival of systems larger than our own ecology .
social level , surely sets the context for selection of ultimately lethal genetic
We are now ready to look at obsolescence in mental and cultural processes.
If you want to understand mental process , look at biological evolution
and conversely if you want to understand biological evolution, go look at men­
tal process.
I called attention above to the circumstance that i nternal selection in bi­
ology must always stress
with the immediate past and that over
long evolutionary time it is internal selection which determines those "homol­
ogies" which used to delight a previous generation of biologists . It is internal
selection which is conservative and this conservatism shows itself most strongly
in embryology and in the preservation of abstract form .
The familiar mental process by which a tautology ;; grows and differen­
tiates into multiple theorems resembles the process of embryology.
In a word, conservatism is rooted in
go along with what , above, I called
and these
in the mental process . It is here that
we must look for the roots of obsolescences.
And the paradox or dilemma which perplexes and dismays us when we
contemplate correcting or fighting against obsolescence is simply the fear that
we must lose coherence and clarity and compatibility and eVen sanity, i f we let
go of the obsolete.
There is however another side to obsolescence. Clearly if some part of a
cultural system " lags behind , " there must be some other part which has evolved
"too fast. " Obsolescence is in the contrast between the two components. If the
lagging of one part is due to the internal half of natural selection, then it is nat­
ural to guess that the roots of too rapid "progress"-if you please--will be
found in the processes of external selection.
And , sure enough , that is precisely what is the case. "Time is out of
joint" because these two components of the steering of evolutionary process are
mutually out of step: Imagination has gone too far ahead of rigor and the resuli:
looks , to conservative elderly persons like me, remarkably like insanity or
perhaps like nightmare, the sister of insanity. Dream is a process, uncorrected
by either internal rigor or external "reality. "
I n certain fields, what I have said above is already familiar. Notoriously
the law lags behind technology, and notoriously the obsolescence which goes
• 'Tautology"' is the technical term fot such aggregates Ot netwotks of propositions as Euclidean ge­
ometry , Riemannian geometry, Ot atithmetic. The aggregate springs from a set cluster of arbitrary
axioms or definitions and no "new" information may be added ro that cluster after the assertion of ax­
ioms. The "proof" of a theorem is the demonstration that indeed the theorem was entirely latent in
the axioms and definitions .
22 1
with senescence is an obsolescence of ways of thought which makes it difficult
for the old to keep up with the mores of the young. And so on.
But I have said a little more than these particular examples could con­
vey. It seems that these are examples of a very ptofound and general principle,
whose wide generality is demonstrated by its being applicable to evolutionary as
well as to mental process.
We are dealing with a species of abstract relation which recurs as a nec­
essary component in many processes of change and which has many names,
Some of its names are familiar: pattern/quantity, form/fu!1<:Jion , letter/spirit ,
rigorJiP1agination, homology/analog �
on/feedback , and so on.
Individual persons �ay favor one or the other component of this dual­
y� �
ism and we will then call them "conservatives, " "radical s , " "liberals , " and so
on. But behind these epithets lies epistemological truth which will insist that
the poles of c�n trast d i� i dl ng the persons iie indeed dialectical n�cessities of th�
living world. You cannot have "day" without "night , " nor "form" without
"function, "
The practical problem is of combination, How, recognizing the dialectic
relation between these poles of contrast, shall we proceed? To play one half of
the adversarial game would be easy , but
requires something more
and , truly, more difficult.
' \ \!
I suggest that if the Board of Regents has any non-trivial duty it is that
of statesmanship in precisely this sense--the duty of rising above partisanship
with any component or particular fad in university politics.
Let us look at how the contrasts between form and function, etc. are
met, remembering that the problem is always a matter of timing: How shall
change in form be
speeded up to avoid obsolescence? And how shall
descriptions of change in functioning be summarized and coded, not too fast,
into the corpus of form?
The rule in biological evolution is plain: The immediate individual
bodily effects of functioning shall never be allowed to impinge upon the indi­
vidual genetic coding . The gene pool of the
is however subject to
change under a natural selection which will recognize differences , especially dif­
ferences in ability to achieve more adaptive functioning. The barrier which pro­
hibits "Lamarckian" inheritance precisely protects the gene system from roo
rapid change under possibly capricious environmental demands,
But in cultures and social systems and great universities there is no
equivalent barrier. Innovations become irreversibly adopted into the on-going
system without being tested for long-time viability; and necessary changes are
resisted by the core of conservative individuals without any assurance that these
particular changes are the ones to resist.
comfort and discomfort become the only criteria for choice of
change and the basic contrast of logical typing between the member and
the category is forgotte n until new discomforts are (inevitably) created by the
new state of affairs. Fear of i ndividual death and grief propose that it would be
"good" to eliminate epidemic disease and only after 100 years of preventive
medicine do we discover that the population is overgrown. And so on.
Obsolescence is not to be avoided by simply speeding up change in
structure, nor can it be avoided by simply slowing down functional changes. It
is clear that neither an over-all conservatism nor an over-all eagerness for change
is appropriate. <'\fl .adversarial combination of the twO habits of mind would
perhaps be better than either habit alone but, adversarial systems are no­
toriously subject to irrelevant determinism. The relative "strength" of the ad­
versaries is likely to rule the decision regardless of the relative strength of their
It is not so much "power" that corrupts as the myth of "power. " It was
noted above that "power /' like "energy, " "tension , " and the rest of the quasi­
physical metaphors are to be distrusted and, among them , "power" is one of the
most dangerous. He who covets a mythical abstraction must always be insa­
tiable! As teachers we should not promote that myth.
It is difficult for an adversary to see further than the dichotomy between
winning and losing in the adversarial combat . Like a chess player, he is always
tempted to make a tricky move, to get a quick victory. The discipline, always
to look for the best move on the board , is hard to attain and hard to maintain.
The player must have his eye always on a longer view, a larger gestalt.
So...we c.ome back to the place from which we started-seeing that place
in a wider perspective. The place is a university and we its Board of Regents.
The wid er perspective is about perspectives , and the question posed is: Do we,
as a board , foster whatever �ili promote in students , in faculty, and around the
boardroom table those wider perspectives which will bring our system back into
an appropriate synchrony or harmony between rigor and imagination?
are we wise?
G. B .
A feature of an organism whereby it seemingly fits better into its
environment and way of l ife. The process of achieving that fit.
Analogic. See Digital.
Brownian movement. The
constant movement of molecules, zigzag and unpredic­
table, caused by their mutual impacts .
Co-Evolution .
A stochastic system o f evolutionary change i n which two o r more
species interact in such a way that changes in species A set the stage for
the natural selection of changes in species B. Later changes in species B ,
in turn, set the stage for the selecting of more similar changes in species
A branch of mathematics dealing with problems of control , recur­
siveness , and information.
A signal is
if there is discontinuity between it and alternative
signals from which it must be distinguished.
are examples of
digital signals. In contrast, when a magnitude or quantity in the signal
is used to represent a continuously variable quantity in the referent , the
signal is said to be
eidetic if
A mental image is
it has all the characteristics of a percept ,
especially if it is referred to a sense organ and so seems to come in from
the outside .
I n this book, I use the word energy to mean a quantity having the dimen­
sions: mass times velocity squared (MV2). Other people, including
physicists, use it in many other senses .
The degree to which relations between the components of any ag­
Entropy .
gregate are mixed up, unsorted , undifferentiated , unpredictable, and
random (q . v . ). The opposite is
negentropy ,
the degree of ordering or sort­
ing or predictability in an aggregate . In physics , certain sorts of order­
ing are related to quantity of available energy.
The processes of embryology seen as related , at each stage, to the
status quo ante.
A branch of science combined with a branch of philosophy. As
science, epistemology is the study of how particular organisms or ag­
gregates of organisms
know, think,
As philosophy, epis­
temology is the study of the necessary limits and other characteristics of
the processes of knowing , thinking, and deciding.
Flexibility. See Stress.
Genetic. Strictly, the
science of genetics deals with all aspects of the heredity
and variation of organisms and with the processes of growth and dif­
ferentiation within the organism.
The aggregate of recipes and injunctions that are the hereditary con­
tri butions to the determination of the phenotype (q. v . ) .
A formal resemblance between two organisms such that the relations
between certain parts of A are similar to the relations between corre­
sponding parts of B . Such formal resemblance is considered to be evi­
dence of evolutionary relatedness .
Idea .
In the epistemology offered in this book, the smallest unit of mental pro­
cess is a difference or distinction or news of a difference. What is called
an idea in popular speech seems to be a complex aggregate of such units.
But popular speech will hesitate to call , say, the bilateral symmetry of a
frog or the message of a single neural impulse an
Information. Any difference that makes a difference.
Linear and lineal. Linear is a technical term in mathematics describing
a rela­
tionship between variables such that when they are plotted against each
other on orthogonal Cartesian coordinates, the result will be a straight
describes a relation among a series of causes or arguments
such that the sequence does not come back to the starting point. The
opposite of linear is
Logical types.
The opposite of lineal is
A series of examples is in order:
1 . The name is not the thing named but is of different logical
type, higher than that of the thing named.
2 . The class is of different logical type, higher than that of its
3 . The injunctions issued by , or control emanating from , the
bias of the house thermostat is of higher logical type than the control
issued by the thermometer. (The
is the device on the wall that can
be set to determine the temperature around which the temperature of
the house will vary . )
4 . The word
is of the same logical type as
It is not the name of a species or genus of plants; rather, it is the
name of a class of plants whose members share a particular style of
growth and dissemination.
A cceleration
is of higher logical type than
In conventional evolutionary theory, offspring may differ from their
parents for the following sorts of re'.lsons :
1 . Changes in DNA called
2 . Reshuffling of genes in sexual reproduction.
3. Somatic changes acquired during the individual's life in re­
sponse to environmental pressure, habit, age, and so forth.
4 . Somatic segregation, that is, the dropping or reshuffling of
genes in epigenesis resulting in patches of tissue that have differentiated
genetic makeup. Genetic changes are always digital (q . v . ) , but modern
theory prefers (with good reason) to bel ieve that
changes are, in
general , the stuff of which evolution is made. It is assumed that many
small mutational changes combine over many generations to make
larger evolutionary contrasts.
Negentropy. See Entropy.
Ontogeny. The process of development
of the individual; embryology plus what­
ever changes environment and habit may impose.
of movement in observed objects , which is created
when the observer's eye moves relative to them; the difference between
the apparent positions of objects seen with one eye and their apparent
positions as seen with the other eye .
A phenotype (q . v . ) that shares certain characteristics with other phen­
otypes in which these characteristics are brought about by genetic fac­
tors. In the phenocopy, these characteristics are brought about by somatic
change under environmental pressure.
The aggregate of propositions making up the description of a real or­
ganism; the appearance and characteristics of a real organism. See
Phylogeny. The evolutionary history of a species.
Prochronism. The general truth that organisms carry,
in their forms , evidences of
their past growth. Prochronism is to onrogeny as homology (q . v . ) is to
A sequence of events is said to be
if there is no way of predict­
ing the next event of a given kind from the event or events that have
preceded and if the system obeys the regularities of probability. Note
that the events which we say are
are always members of some
limited set . The fall of an honest coin is said ro be
random .
At each
throw, the probability of the next fall being heads or tails remains
unchanged . But the randomness is within the limited set. It is heads or
tails; no alternatives are to be considered.
It is the task of every scientist to find the simplest, most economi­
cal , and (usually) most elegant explanation that will cover the known
data. Beyond this , reductionism becomes a vice if it is accompanied by
an overly strong insistence that the simplest explanation is the only ex­
planation . The data may have to be understood within some larger ges­
Sacrament. The outward and visible sign of an inward
Somatic. (Greek soma, body) A characteristic is said to
and spiritual grace.
be of somatic origin when
the speaker wishes to emphasize that the characteristic was achieved by
bodily change brought about during the lifetime of the individual by
environmental impact or by practice.
to shoot with a bow at a target; that is, to scatter
events in a partially random manner, some of which achieve a preferred
outcome) If a sequence of events combines a random component with a
selective process so that only certain outcomes of the random are allowed
to endure , that sequence is said to be stochastic.
Lack of entropy, a condition arising when the external environment or in­
ternal sickness makes excessive or contradictory demands on an orga­
nism's ability to adjust. The organism lacks and needsjlexibility, having
used up its available uncommitted alternatives .
An aggregate of l inked propositions in which the validity of the links
between them cannot be doubted . The truth of the propositions is not
claimed. Example: Euclidean geometry.
A unit or aggregate in the classification of animals or plants (e. g . , a
species , genus, or family).
A branch of mathematics that ignores quantities and deals only with
the formal relations between components, especially components that
can be represented geometrically. Topology deals with those character­
istics (e.g . , of a surface or body) that will remain unchanged under
quantitative distortion .
abduction, 1 39, 1 4 2- 144
Apollonian culture, 1 9 1
Abraxas , 1 8
armaments races, 1 74
acclimation, 1 5 5- 1 56
Ashby, R. , 1 74
acquired characteristics, 149, 2 2 0
asymmetry, double, I On
adaptation, 1 7 2- 1 7 4 , 1 8 4
addiction, 5 4 , 1 3 9 , 1 48 , 1 7 2- 174, 1 7 8
asymmetry in egg , 164
attributes , 6()""{) I
Augustine, Sai nt, 2 , 1 7 , 5 2 , 206
Aesop, 1 4 2
aesthetics, 8-9, 8 0 , 2 1 1
Aurignacian art, 1 4 1
Alice and flamingo , 1 7 8n
autonomy, 1 2 6
alternation of generations, 7 8
Alytes obstetricians (mid wife toad), 1 5 I
Ames, A . , Jr. , 3 2-37
analogic change, 1 8 1
analogic cod ing, I I I
Ancient Mariner, 2 10
Bacon, F. , 2 1 7
Baer , K. E . von, 167- 168
Balanoglossus, 1 8 1
Bateson, M . C , 1 1- 1 2
Bateson's rule , 1 6 5
conservative laws, 4 5
Beethoven , 1. van, 2 1 0
context , 47 , I 1 5
anatomical , 1 5- 1 6
Benedict , R . , 1 9 1
Berkeley, Bishop, 9 7 , 99
for change, 1 8 1
Bernard , C , 4 3 , 1 06
and meaning, 1 5
as pattern through time, 14
bias, 1 5 8 , 1 98
Pavlovian, 1 1 8
Bible, 188
convergent sequences, 44-45
Bigelow, ] . , 1 06
bilat eral symmetry , 162
corresponding stages, 1 68
binomial theory , 7 3-74
crab, 7-1 1
biological values , 5 3-54
creatura, 7 , 9, 206
B iston betularia, 1 50
crime, 139
bithorax, 1 5 9
cross-species communication, 1 1 8 , 1 3 7
Blake, W . , 4n, 97 , 1 14 , 202
cybernetics, 104 , 197
Brownian movement, 4 1 , 44
cyclothyme, 192
i n history, 105- 106
Bly, Peter, 8
Buber, M. , 1 0 1
S. ,
1 9 , 78n,
Darwi n , C , 1 9 , 4 3 , 64 , 146, 149, 179
20 1-2 0 2 , 2 1 8
buzzer circuit, 58-59, 1 2 5- 1 26
death , 1 2 6 , 208
definition, by biology, 16
depth, perception of, 32-37
calibration, 3 7 , 1 96
Descartes , R. , 90
Cannon, W . , 1 06
description, 8 1-86, 169
Carroll , 1. , 66
double, 2 1 2
Cartesian dualism, 2 1 7
design, 1 7 2
cat's-eye, 1 1
deutero-Iearning, 1 3 4
change, 6 1-62
difference, 29, 68-69, 94- 100, 1 1 2 , 1 6 2
irreversible, 103
not located , 98-99
limits of, 178
quantitative, 1 06
perception of, 98
digital coding, 1 1 1
quantitative, 18 1
Ding an sich, 1 1 , 30, 69, 1 9 1
character, 1 1 5
Dionysian culture, 1 9 1
climax, ecological , 48
coding, 1 09- 1 14, 189
in form , 172
coevolution, 46
vs . Lamarckism, 182n
comparative anaromy, 166
discrimination, 1 1 9-- 1 2 0
comparative method , 87
complementary interaction,
divergent phenomena, 162 , 1 7 4
1 93
divergent sequences, 40-43
DNA, 1 5 7
conch, 1 1- / 2
Dobzhansky, T. , 1 7 9
consciousness, 3 2 , 1 28 , 2 1 1
dolphin, 1 2 1- 1 2 3 , 1 3 7- 138
conservatism in evolution, 1 7 5
Donne, ] . , 130
dormitive explanation, 8 5 , 1 3 3
genocopy , 1 60
double bind , 1 1 5 , 1 2 5 , 1 99
Gnosticism , 1 8
dream , 2 2 1
Goethe, J . W. von, 1 6
Dtyden, J . , 24
golden section , 1 2
gtammar , anatomical , 1 6- 1 7
Great Chain o f Being, 19, 1 6 6
earthworm , 5 1
greeting, 1 3 7n
elephant, 1 5
embryology ,
emergence, 1 07
Gresham's law, 6
growt h , 1 2 , 5 7
emptiness, 8, 1 1
end linkage, 1 93
energy , collateral , 1 00-- 1 02
Haag , R . , 1 2 2n
English-American contrast , 1 93
habit, 1 84
enlightenment, 7 5 , 86
and natural selection, 220
Haeckel , E . H. , 167, 1 80
entelechy , 182
entertainment, 1 4 2
Hampden-Turner, c. , 1 2 4
enttopy , 6 , 7 , 64
Hendrix, G. , 7 5n
epigenesis , 1 6 , 47-48, 1 6 2 , 220
Heraclitus, 1 7 2 , 20 1
Epimenides, 1 16- 1 1 7
heraldry, 140
epistemology, 4
hexago-rectangle , 39, 5 1-52
eternal verities , 5 2 , 1 9 1 , 205
holism, 94
Euclid, 8 1
homeostasis , 4 3 , 1 5 8
explanation, 40, 48, 8 1-86, 189
homology , 1 5 , 166- 1 7 2 , 1 8 1 , 2 2 1
mental , 184
exploration, 1 39
horse, 5 5-56
humor, 1 1 6
Fibonacci series , 1 2
hypertension, 1 34 , 1 3 9
flexibility, 1 5 5 , 1 5 6
forgetting, 165
form , 1 90
and function, 2 2 2
Fortune, R . F. , 1 9 1
Fraser, Sir J . , 209
frog's egg , 162- 163
Iatmul , 1 3 2 , 1 92
image formation, 32-38
imagination, 2 19
incest, 7 9
I ndustrial Revolution, 1 9 , 4 3 , 1 7 7
information , 4 5 , 68
games , theory of, 20
gene pool, 7 9
genetic assimilation, 1 5 9
loss of, 1 6 5
inside and outside, 1 3 1
i nteraction, unpredictable , 1 7 8
genetic control of mind , 184
of learning, 1 1 5
jackdaw , 49-50
of somatic change, 1 6 1
Jung, C . G. , 7, 94
Kammerer, P. , 1 5 1n
Mayr, E . , 1 7 0 , 2 0 1
Kanr, I . , 99
Mead , M . , 1 9 1
Keats , J . , 1 2- 1 3
meaning, 99
Koehler, 0. , 4 9
metacommunication, 1 1 6
Koestler, A. , 1 5 2n
micronystagmus, 97
Korzybski , A. , 30, 1 10
midwife road , 1 5 1
Krapotkin, Prince, 2 1 8
mind , characteristics of, 92
Kretschmer, E. , 192
Mittelstaedt, H . , 1 9 5- 1 96
moire patterns, 7 9-80
Moliere, 8 5
Lamarck, J . -B . , 1 8- 1 9 , 93-94, 1 06, 149
morphogenesis, 1 4 0 , 1 62
Lamarckism, 1 1 8n , 1 4 9- 1 5 3 , 179
language , 60--6 I
languages , ·synonymous , 7 3-77
names , 184- 1 85
Lear , 4 5 , 204
natural selection, 4 5 , 64, 1 0 3 , 1 4 7 , 160,
learning levels , 1 56
1 7 5 , 206, 2 2 0
Learning I I , 1 34
neurosis , experimental , 1 1 8- 1 1 9
left , definition of, 82-83
Newron, I . , 2 1 7
levels, see logical types , typing
Newtonian particle, 20
levels of adjustmenr, 1 56
number, 49- 5 2 , 1 1 1
lineal thinking, 60
numbers, ordinal , 7 5-76
Locke, J . , 2 17
logic, 58-59
logical types, typing, 19, 42, 62, 108,
1 14- 1 2 6 , 1 5 2 , 1 5 7 , 1 7 4 , 1 8 5 , 1 94 ,
objectivity, 3 I
obsolescence, 2 1 7
Occam's razor, 28
in perception, 1 90
Ockham, W. of, 86n
Logos, 1 8
odd numbers, 7 5
Lorenz , K . , 14 1
Omar Khayyam, 146
Lovejoy, A. 0. , 18
Lucretius, 4 5
operanr conditioning, 1 2 1- 1 2 2
O'Reilly, J . , 1 2 2n
oscillation, 148
ostensive coding, 1 1 3
Macaulay, Lord , 3n
otters , 1 2 5
Macbeth, 72-73
McCulloch, W . S. , 5 2 , 86n
magic, 209
Paley, W . , 1 7 2 , 207
Mallory, L. , 1 39
paradox, 5 8-59
mantis, 1 9 5n
parallax, 34-3 5
Martin, C. P. , 78n
paranoid culture, 1 9 1
Marxism, 43
parsimony, rule of, 2 8
Matterhorn, 1 39
part-for-whole coding, 1 1 3- 1 14
Maxwel l , c. , 106, 107
parthenogenesis, 7 8n
parts and wholes , 9, 38--4 0, 93
Pasteur, 1. , 4 5
rifle, 1 9 5
rigor, 1 8 3 , 2 1 2 , 2 1 9, 2 2 1
pattern, 8
hierarchies of, I 1
and repetition, 29
pepper moth, 1 5 0
ritual , 1 3 7
rose , 5 0
Rosenblueth , A . N . , 1 06
Rosetta stone, 46
physical metaphors, 2 1 7
Plaro, 4n, 1 7 0 , 182
play, 1 2 5 , 136, 1 38-- 1 39
runaway, 1 0 5
Russell , B . , 1 9 , 5 3 n , 1 1 6, 1 2 3 , 1 8 5 , 196,
pleroma, 7 , 94
Plotinus, 2, 14
Pluro, 70-7 1
sacrament, 6 , 3 1
polyploidy, 5 5-56
sacred , 2 1 3
population, 1 1 8n, 1 60, 222
schismogenesis, 1 0 5 , 1 92
power, myth of, 223
schizophrenia , 8, 139
practice, 1 38 , 1 9 5- 1 96
schizothyme, 1 92
prediction, 4 3 , 44
segmentation, 1 2
presuppositions, 2 5 , 143
Principia Mathematica . 1 16
external , 1 7 8
internal , 1 7 7- 1 7 8
probability , 44
self, 1 3 1 , 1 3 9 , 200
processes , 184
proof, 2 7
self-correction, 1 9 5
Prospero, 1 4
self-healing, 206
Pryor, K . , 1 2 2n
self-knowledge, 1 3 5- 1 40
psychedelic experience, 43n
sexes, 77-79
psychoanalysis, 1 4
Shaw , G . B . , 1 88
purpose, 1 06 , 2 0 7
Shiva, 1 7- 1 8 , 1 7 2 , 208
shotgu n , 1 9 5- 1 96
Pythagoras , 5 1
situs inversus , 163
size, 9 , 5 4-5 5
quantity, 49-53
sociobiology, 1 3 3n
somatic change, 1 5 3- 1 5 5
Spencer , H . , 146, 180
Spencer-Brown, G. , 9 1
rain dance, 209
ratio, 53
spiral , 1 1- 1 2 , 1 64
recapitulation, 1 6 7 , 1 80
stability, 6 1-62, 103
recursiveness , 20 I
statistics, 44
reductionism, 2 14
steam engine, 1 1 0
redwood forest, 1 1 2
with governor, 43n, 1 0 5
relevance, 1 3
Steno bredanensis, 1 2 1
religious freedom, 2 18
Stevens , W. , 77
repetition of parts , 9- 1 0
stimulus, 1 00
rhythms, 80
stochastic process , 147
stochastic sequence, 127
transformism, 1 9
stories , 1 3- 1 5
trial and ertor, 1 2 7 , 1 8 2
Tursiops, 1 3 7- 1 3 8
survival , 2 2 0n
Type A behavior, 1 34
o f traits , 168
typology, 1 7 0 , 1 92
switch, 1 08
symmetrical i nteraction, 1 0 5 , 1 92
symmetry, 9 , 162
unconscious process, 3 2
symptomatic cure, 148
use and disuse, 1 5 3- 1 5 8
synaptic summation, 7 1-72
taurology, 4 7 , 8 1-8 5 ,
1 6 2 , 189, 206,
2 2 1n
Venn diagrams, 1 32
eternal verities
Von Neumann, J . , 20, 7 7 , 8 1-82
Teilhard de Chardi n , P. , 93
teleology , 60
template, 1 1 2- 1 1 3
Waddington C . H . , 44, 4 7 , 1 5 9, 1 7 9
Tennyson, A . , 208
thermodynamics, second law of, 18, 48
thermostat , I l l , 1 96-- 1 98
D'A. W . ,
1 69-- 170,
1 7 2 , 182
time, 107 , 1 26 , 2 0 1
Tolstoi, 1. , 42
Watt, J . , 106
weakest link, 4 1-42, 53
Thorn, R . , 9 1
Wallace, A. R . , 4 3 , 106, 1 4 8 , 1 7 5- 1 76
1 7 1-
Weissmann, A. , 1 50 , 1 7 5
Whorf. B . 1. , 1 1 6
Wiener, N . , 1 0 "
1 06 , 1 1 7
wound healing, l l 2- 1 1 3
Tombaugh, C . W. , 7 1
totemism, 140- 1 42
Young , G. , 1 39-- 140
touc h , sense of, 96
transference, 14- 1 5
transform , 1 09-- 1 14
zigzag relations, 195